Sins of the Past
by archerlove
Summary: The Saints have returned to Boston with renewed passion to take out a different kind of criminal. Choices will have consequences, secrets will be uncovered, trust will be earned and betrayed. **ON PERMANENT HIATUS**
1. Chapter 1

****Readers be warned - this story is unfinished. There will be no more posts after chapter 17. However, I have an in-progress, re-written version (fully outlined from beginning to end) called _Lights & Sirens _that you may enjoy if you like this story. Thanks!**

**1 **

Connor MacManus reached for the cigarettes in his jacket pocket, pulling the pack out and flipping it open to fish out yet another five minutes of relief. At the rate he was going, his patience was going to last about another fifteen before things started to get ugly.

The steady drumming of knuckles against the passenger window told him his brother wasn't faring any better than he was.

_Better hold out for at least twenty_, he thought, returning the precious commodity to the company of its brothers.

He caressed the thin paperboard idly; he didn't really need the nicotine, it was just the waiting that was getting to him. He pushed the top of the pack back and forth with his thumb, open, closed, open, closed.

The shot-out streetlight they were parked under dribbled big, fat drops of rainwater onto the hood, backed by the white noise of the wind outside, gusting between the aging brick and concrete buildings. The spray of tires over wet asphalt caught his attention briefly until he saw that its source was a large silver SUV.

Not their guy.

It had been raining for three days straight, and the storm drains of South Boston had regurgitated the deluge in small lakes of standing water along every chipping concrete curb. Only in the last hour, as Connor and his brother sat in their new-used Ford LTD, had the downpour slackened to a drizzle, just steady enough that they couldn't roll the windows down for too long without getting uncomfortably wet.

The smell of damp wool and stale smoke combined with the humid breathing of two restless men was growing thicker and more oppressive by the minute. Connor wondered how the police did it. Between the moisture from outside and the smoke from the inside, he and Murphy had managed to keep the windows fogged over better than a couple of horny teenagers.

Connor rolled the window down and closed his eyes against the raindrops that spattered his face. The early autumn air was heavy, tinged with oil and exhaust and the sharp aroma of wet garbage from a nearby dumpster, but it still felt fresher than being closed up in the car. When drops began to run down his neck and into the collar of his tee shirt, he reluctantly rolled the window back up.

Two small globes of light appeared through the windshield, slowly growing and brightening until Connor raised an arm to shield his eyes from the glare.

Blinking slowly to clear the spots from his vision, he leaned forward and tried unsuccessfully to wipe the condensation from the windshield with the sleeve of his jacket, the coarse wool only smearing the moisture and leaving a muddled haze in its wake.

The view was distorted, but clear enough for their purposes: ancient white sedan, something from Detroit.

Not their guy.

"This fucker better show," Murphy mumbled through lips biting the end of a cigarette as he lit up.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he shifted in his seat, reminding Connor how much his own ass ached from all this goddamn waiting.

"You don't think we missed him, do you?" Murphy asked for the second time, "While I was out takin' a piss?"

"I told you, I was watchin'. No Volkswagens, no hatchbacks, not even anything blue."

"Are you sure? You were concentratin' pretty hard on loadin' your gun."

"My gun's fuckin' loaded already. I was just checkin' it."

"Countin' the bullets? Worried there won't be enough to make up for your aim?"

"Fuck you," Connor replied, rolling his eyes. "That why you've brought that mammoth magazine? Twenty fuckin' rounds? Why don't you just use a Tommy gun if you don't want to have to reload?"

"Don't be jealous that mine's bigger than yours."

"The thing barely fits in your holster!"

"Not the first time I've heard that either…"

"Yeah fuckin' right. Hey, I understand if you need to compensate. I'd feel inferior too, if I was you."

"I'll remember you said that when your fuckin' empty and beggin' me to toss you a spare."

Connor snorted. "It's the quality of the shot, little brother, not the fuckin' quantity. I don't have to empty the thing – all I need's one bullet to get the job done."

"One bullet?"

"One."

"All right," Murphy allowed, "After this is over, we'll check it out. See how many 'one bullets' you really needed."

Connor smiled, bemused. It wasn't much of a challenge since tonight's hit was only one man, and as far as they could tell from three weeks of following the pedophile, Richard Polinsky never carried a gun. There was a good chance neither of them would need more than a single bullet each, and a pair of shiny pennies to finish the job right.

Connor raised his eyes to the rear-view mirror, frowning at the shadowy expanse behind him, empty save for the two duffel bags of killing tools that lay innocuously across the back seat.

"Does it feel weird to you?"

Murphy looked at him briefly, then nodded, thumb and fingers pressed to his lips, pinky finger raised slightly as he sucked on the last inch of his cigarette.

"Hasn't been just the two of us since…" Connor paused. The images of dead and dying men were not hard to recall; it just took a moment sometimes to separate them into the different times and places he and Murphy had carried out their mission.

"That first one, the Russians," Murphy said, raising an arm to flick the butt of his smoke out the slightly lowered passenger side window and into the darkness beyond.

"Aye, that's right." How could he forget their first time? Their virgin mission, an impossibly successful accident that, only through the grace of their God, had ended with Murphy and him unharmed, nine Russian mafia members executed, and a best friend's life saved along the way.

A gust of wind rocked the car, sending a spray of moisture through the gap in Murphy's window.

"Even then, you know, we were only alone for a few minutes," Connor mused, turning the key in the ignition enough to roll up the window. "Roc was there at the end."

"Ye mean Jaffar." Murphy snorted half-heartedly, wiping the rain from his forehead.

"He'd be fuckin' pissed to miss this one, you know."

Murphy gazed across the dash with a wry smile. "Aye. He's probably having a fuckin' fit up there right now, begging to come back and send just one more evil motherfucker to his Maker."

Connor's smile lingered a moment as he pictured the scene, Rocco's long hair and beard making him like a fun-house mirror image of Jesus himself. And then the image was replaced, inevitably, with the much, much too Christ-like vision of Rocco's blood-soaked body, arms heavy and lifeless at his sides, propped carefully in that chair as the brothers prayed for his soul.

A heavy quiet filled the car, and Connor knew Murphy's thoughts weren't far from his own.

These violent missions for God were the only times in his life when Connor had been part a trinity, as opposed to a pair. Murphy was his other half, the sometimes indistinguishable element that made up their greater whole. But the two had grown to three, first with Rocco's enthusiastic fervor, and then, miraculously, with their own Da's unwavering conviction.

There was strength in the trinity, a natural balance that made sense to Connor.

But the Lord's plan was never as simple as man would like it to be.

A shrill chirping cut through the lulling wash of the weather outside and Connor jumped at the sound, startled but grateful for the interruption of his thoughts as he fished in his pocket for the cell phone.

"Hello?"

He tilted the phone perpendicular to his ear as Murphy leaned in to listen, tapping fingers anxiously on a jean-clad thigh.

"MacManus?" The voice was hard to distinguish from the chaos of background noise.

"Aye, who is this?" Connor said, reaching out to place a silencing hand on his brother's drumming fingers. Only a select few knew this number, and the voice didn't belong to any of them.

"You not want delivery tonight?"

Murphy's eyes widened and he reached to hold a silencing hand over the mouthpiece.

"Who is it?" he hissed, sinking lower in his seat. "What are they talking about, delivery?"

Connor had no idea, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"It's Jimmy."

There was a pause while Connor racked his brain. The Jimmys he knew were all Boston natives. This person sounded almost…Chinese?

"Jimmy Chan, Chan's Express? It's Saturday night, I not hear from you, I think you order Mu Shu Chicken from somewhere else-"

_Jesus Christ._

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Murphy hissed, sitting back in his seat with a sigh of disgust.

"Jimmy-"

"-but then I think, impossible! No one's Mu Shu as good as Jimmy Chan's, so then I think something is wrong, so I call to check on you-"

"Jimmy-"

"—because I think, MacManus boys would not leave town again without telling Jimmy Chan-"

"Jimmy!"

"So. Everything is okay?"

"Everything's fine, Jimmy," Connor said, rolling his eyes as he placated the well-intentioned man, "We just…went out to eat tonight."

"Oh. I see."

"Still the best Mu Shu around, Jimmy. We'll see you next week, all right? Thanks for checking."

Connor snapped the phone closed and shook his head. "You know, if the police really wanted to find the Saints, they don't need the fucking FBI – just find out where we get our Chinese take-out and they could trace our every move from the day we walked off the fucking plane!"

Murphy smiled tightly but didn't laugh, just leaned over to tilt the phone in Connor's hand and look at the display.

"It's been almost three hours, Con."

"I know."

"He's never come this late before."

"I know."

Another car drove by and the brothers barely looked up, not surprised to see a taxi disappearing into the night. Not their guy.

"I'm fuckin' hungry now that Jimmy called."

Damn Murphy and his appetite. But Connor had to admit his own stomach was growling now, too.

"How much longer do you want to wait?"

Connor sighed. "I don't know, he could still show up…."

"When? At fucking one in the morning?"

"I don't know, all right? This wasn't part of the plan, he was supposed to show at ten, like he's been doing for the past month – get a room, meet the call girl, it was supposed to be an easy hit – no home security to worry about, no neighbors to call the cops - how the hell was I supposed to know he-"

"Hey, it's all right, I know, I thought it was a good plan, too." Murphy rubbed his brow tiredly. "Sometimes this shit just happens."

But this shit wasn't supposed to happen any more. Not to them. They had learned the hardest way possible what could happen if they rushed into a job, half-cocked and ill prepared. Since then, they had decided to strengthen their chances of success and survival with research of their enemies' habits and weaknesses, arming themselves as much with knowledge as with bullets and guns.

The idea of how to do this presented itself the very day they returned to Boston from their hiatus in New York, in a newspaper article about a convicted pedophile being released from prison. At the very end of the article was a final harrowing tagline: "Are there child molesters living in your neighborhood?" It went on to list several websites on which a person could pinpoint his own address and see every sexual predator living in the vicinity, down to rap sheets and mug shots. For Connor and Murphy, it was a goldmine.

A quick trip to the public library and a tapping of Murphy's superior Internet-browsing skills (thanks to many hours spent on the laptop of a college student ex-girlfriend) and they'd made their first literal hit-list, prioritizing by crimes most heinous and criminals that seemed most likely to strike again.

Richard Polinsky was number one. Connor would never forget that little girl's picture on the news last winter, blonde pigtails and a lopsided cheery smile; Gracie Keebler's portrait had been taken just a few days before her used and bloodied body had been found dumped outside the local hospital's entrance.

And now her killer was walking free, when he ought to be dead already.

"Fuck!"

Murphy reached a hand under his jacket and pulled out his gun, running his fingers along the black metal.

Connor continued to stare at the phone in his hand. "It just doesn't feel right, knowing that motherfucker's out there somewhere and we can't do a thing about it."

"What kind of a man…" Murphy's hand squeezed around the handle of his gun. "She was only four years old, Connor. _Four years old_!"

Connor shook his head, not ready either to suppress the righteous anger that had been simmering in his gut ever since they had discovered this weekly ritual at the motel, and the opportunity for the perfect execution had presented itself. Same day, same time, even the same corner room – careful surveillance had given them every reason to believe Polinsky's Saturday night would be spent the same as every other, save for the fact that it would be his last.

Murphy looked up and met Connor's eyes thoughtfully. "Polinsky can't be the only sick fuck using a place like the Lucky Suites to do his fuckin' business. You want to go for a walk?"

Connor smiled ruefully. "Not tonight, man, not without a fuckin' plan."

"You sure?" Murphy pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "The river's already flowin' out there…just a soul or two more and it'll be teemin'."

He shook his head, knowing Murphy wasn't really serious, just restless and unwilling to accept that that their justice was not going to be served tonight.

Connor's sigh was frustrated and bitter. Richard Polinsky may have beaten the rape and murder charges on appeal, citing some technicality that only the American legal system could succumb to, but there was no chance in hell he was going to escape the Saints.

Until now, it seemed. Connor rolled the window down again.

Headlights suddenly blazed through the rear window and he heard a car slowing, then froze as the lights swung and re-centered directly behind them. He glanced in the rearview mirror only to be blinded as the entire fogged-up rear window lit up like a blank movie screen.

"Fuck."

"Can you see what it is?" Murphy whispered, as if they might somehow be overheard.

"I can't see shit. I told you to stop breathin' with your fuckin' mouth open!"

They sat perfectly still in their seats until they heard a car door slam and footsteps slap across the wet street. A slight, hunched figure clutching a small black suitcase hurried through the orange glow of a streetlamp, jerked open the motel's glass front door and slunk inside.

Connor sat forward quickly and leaned his head out the open window to look behind them.

Blue Volkswagen hatchback, Jersey plates.

"That's it. That's the one," he said, heart starting to pound.

"That's him? I thought-"

"That's his car, that's the fuckin' guy!"

Murphy opened his door and set a foot on the curb as Connor turned the key in the ignition.

"What are you doing?" Murphy asked impatiently, "Let's go!"

"We can't stay parked here now."

"It's not like he's gonna be comin' back out for his fuckin' bag!"

Connor palmed the gearshift. "The police know this guy's car, too. If something goes wrong and we get held up, they're gonna have it surrounded, and then what the fuck are we gonna do?"

"Bein' a little paranoid, aren't you?"

"I'm just trying to be smart, asshole. We don't have fuckin' Da here anymore, you know."

Murphy didn't answer and Connor looked up to see his brother's face had darkened.

"Look, if we go around back, we can take the alley in either direction if we need to."

Murphy frowned, but pulled his foot back in, slamming the door.

Connor pulled the car out smoothly, drove down a block, spun a quick left onto the first side street, then another left into the alley that took them to the back of the motel. He slowed as they pulled past a red door with black stenciled letters: Employees Only. Facing the rear of the building, the right-hand side was butted up against the structure next to it, but on the left-hand side, a narrow alley, maybe eight feet across, connected to the street out front.

He turned the car off quietly. Feeling his heart rate pick up in anticipation, Connor did a quick double-check of guns, magazines, gloves, and mask, his brother doing the same beside him.

"Ready?"

"Aye. Let's fuckin' do it."


	2. Chapter 2

2

Connor and Murphy made their way quickly across the back alley to the rear entrance of the motel, zig-zagging around puddles and the piles of trash that littered the narrow space, likely left by motel employees unwilling to brave the weather in order to deposit the garbage in the alley dumpster.

Trying the door, Murphy found the handle locked, but the door not fully latched.

"Now if that's not a fucking sign, I don't know what is."

With a none-too-gentle flick to the back of the head, Connor shushed him and they slipped inside to find themselves at the end of a long, thinly carpeted, dimly-lit hallway. The doorways to the rooms were recessed a few feet into the walls, providing their occupants with semi-private alcoves in which to conduct their questionable business. A sliver of the motel's lobby was visible at the far end, and it appeared to be deserted for the moment.

About halfway down the hallway, opposite a sign for an emergency exit, was the staircase that would lead them up to the corner room on the second floor, where Richard Polinsky would soon breathe his last.

Their way was relatively smooth, save for the occasional motel patron exiting a room, but in each case they were able to duck safely into a darkened doorway until the danger of discovery passed. A thrill of anticipation was already seeping into Connor's veins as they started up the stairs.

"This is it, man," Connor whispered as they rounded the landing, "You ready for--"

The wail of a siren in startlingly close proximity drowned out the rest of Connor's thoughts as well as his words.

Murphy stumbled on a stair and Connor grabbed the rail to avoid toppling over him.

"Jesus Christ, how the fuck did they--"

"Shit! Come on, come on!"

They were on their feet and down the stairs in an instant, tearing around the corner only to find that a small crowd of teenagers had gathered outside one of the rooms, blocking the path to their exit. There was no way could they pass by unnoticed in their ski masks, but neither could they afford to remove their masks and risk being identified. Connor decided on the emergency exit across the hall at the exact moment Murphy started towards it, slamming against the metal crash bar and leading their escape into the alley.

"Shit!"

The brilliant strobe of lights sent Connor recoiling, and he stuck a hand back to stop the door from latching behind him. "Jesus, not tonight, not like this…"

And then he realized the lights were not coming from a swarm of police cars as he had assumed, but from a single ambulance. It was still idling, parked haphazardly over the low curb, the rear of the vehicle skewed towards them. Two emergency personnel exited and headed towards the lobby as Connor watched, crouched as close to the wall as possible, but not enough to avoid the rainwater dripping steadily off the roof and soaking into the fabric of his mask.

"It's just docs!" Murphy hissed.

Connor crossed himself, kissed his fingers and sent a gesture of thanks skyward. "Sorry I doubted Ye."

Murphy exhaled a sigh of relief that was tinged with laughter, then stood and slapped Connor on the back of the head. "C'mon! We've still got work to do."

They were more cautious the second time as they stole back up the stairs, although luck certainly seemed to be smiling on them so far.

They reached the top of the stairs and checked the second floor hallway in opposite directions. The coast was clear. Drawing his gun, Connor grinned widely behind his damp mask when Murphy's magazine extension snagged on his holster.

"Oh, did you bring a bit more than you could handle there, ma'am?"

"Fuck you," Murphy hissed, with a sharp tap of the oversized gun against Connor's forehead.

"Ow! Fucker!" Connor whispered fiercely and jabbed Murphy back with his own gun before his brother raced ahead of him down the hall.

In a matter of moments, they were outside the door of room 266.

The motel had been around for decades, and although whenever the building changed hands, the new owners were always keen to install new signage and fake plants in the lobby, changing the locks from their outdated splendor to the newer plastic keycards was never an investment worthy of their attention. The doorknob was worn brass and locked only with a single key – not even a deadbolt.

Murphy took a few steps back, preparing to kick the door in, but voices carrying up the staircase made both brothers duck quickly into the doorway.

They were effectively trapped now; a few more seconds and they were bound to be discovered either by Polinsky or the people coming up the hall. Murphy tilted his head towards the door questioningly. Connor held up a hand for him to wait. They were at the far end of the hall – chances were good these people were headed to one of the other rooms and would cease to be a problem soon enough.

There was a sharp knock and an authoritative female voice not fifteen feet away. "Someone call for Paramedics?"

He itched to peek around the corner, but wisdom beat out curiosity and he took a breath, willing himself to be patient. Murphy, on the other hand, had no such common sense and Connor groaned to see his twin crouching low and sticking his head around the corner to see what was transpiring.

"There's a chick and a guy…"

"Watch it, ye dumb fuck!"

"They're both going inside," Murphy concluded, his satisfaction punctuated by the slam of the door.

Before his brother could resume his wind-up, Connor remembered in a moment of clarity that Polinsky would likely be expecting someone, and that these doors not only lacked secure hardware, but peepholes as well. Fucking brilliant.

He lifted a gloved fist and pounded on the door.

"What the fuck are ye doing?" Murphy exclaimed, grabbing his arm.

"Shhh. Let's just see if he opens it—"

Sure enough, a loose rattle sounded and the door began to open. Shit. Now what? Maybe he should have thought this plan through a little further.

"You're early," came a voice from behind the door, the owner appearing a moment later and Connor's stomach turned as he took his first good look at Richard Polinsky. The man was thinner than he appeared in his mug shot, stray locks of greasy black hair escaping from a ponytail and hanging down on gaunt, unshaven cheeks. His skin was pale and pasty, as if his entire life had been spent hiding from the sun and the world outside. He wore a gray button-up shirt that was faintly shiny, and black cuffed slacks, looking every bit like the slime-ball lawyer that he was.

"Well, come on," he said, his effeminate voice taking on an irritated tone as he opened the door fully and gestured for them to enter. "Don't know why you had to wear masks, it's not like I don't know who you are. And you can put the guns away," he added dryly, "There's no need for that."

What the hell was this? Polinsky obviously wasn't waiting on a call girl. He exchanged a quick look with Murphy, who gave a barely perceptible shrug, his eyes mirroring Connor's confusion.

Polinsky walked over to a sitting area with two chairs and a wooden table in the room that was larger than Connor expected it to be. There was a small bouquet of almost-fresh flowers on the table, with a card poking out that said "Enjoy your stay!" It sat just behind where someone had carved "JENNY H. IS A WHORE" into the rough oak.

A small black, nondescript suitcase leaned against one of the chairs and Polinsky picked it up and placed it on the table, straining a bit at the effort. He glanced at the brothers expectantly.

Connor took a step closer. What had they stumbled upon here? The man was obviously mistaking them for someone else, but who? And shouldn't these other people be arriving any time now? Reminding himself that if things went sour, _they_ were the ones with the guns, Connor unzipped the case quickly and threw the top back.

That was a lot of money.

He picked up a bundle of 100's and turned it over in his hand.

"It's all there, for Christ's sake. _Good faith_, remember?" Polinsky said, laughing cynically and revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. "The rest is yours when you deliver."

"When we deliver." Murphy repeated, not exactly questioning, but not exactly confirming either.

Polinky was not amused. "Look, I did everything just like you said, even came to this same motel, even though I told you I've been followed here before." He started to fidget and reached for the nearly empty glass next to the fifth of Smirnoff on the dresser behind him, downing the last of it and slamming the glass back down. "You better not be fucking with me, or--"

"Calm down, man," Murphy said harshly, obviously growing tired of this game. "You'll get what's coming to you."

Polinsky eyed them suspiciously. "When?"

"When you can prove to us you've got the rest," Connor said, hoping to elicit a little more information.

"Goddamn it, the deal was _tonight_! I should have known you'd turn this around on me, you and your _boss_, lording your powerover everyone – you're just as bad as the rest of them, bunch of two-faced bastards." He floundered for the glass again, saw it was empty and grabbed the bottle instead. "Every one of you, pretending to be something you're not. At least some of us aren't ashamed of what we are."

"Not ashamed? Not ashamed, you sick motherfucker?" That was it, Murphy had snapped. So much for getting more information. "Your mother know what you did to that little girl? You _proud_ of that, you fucking piece of shit?"

Polinsky looked taken aback at Murphy's outburst, but shock turned quickly to anger. "Maybe I am," he said snidely, "What's it to you?"

Connor's skin bristled and he could see Murphy struggling to regain control of himself. If ever a criminal deserved to be put to death, it was this man.

"It's everything to me, asshole," Murphy said icily.

"Just like it was everything to Gracie Keebler," Connor added, disgust and anger welling inside him, "Just like it was everything to her mother, and to her father."

Polinsky scoffed at them. "Don't come at me with your fucking judgments – conviction overturned on appeal, remember? I don't have to answer to anyone, least of all you." He tossed his head back with an arrogant smirk, taking another drink.

"See, there's where you're wrong, _Dick_," Murphy said, his voice growing very calm as he ran a finger along the barrel of his gun. "There is one person you have to answer to--"

"And His judgment's not so easy to overturn," Connor finished, itching to silence this scumbag once and for all.

Polinsky's eyes widened and Connor saw a spot of sweat in the armpit of his shirt as he swallowed the vodka. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes darting between them suspiciously.

Connor exchanged a look with Murphy.

It was time.

Murphy dropped him to his knees with a fist to the gut while Connor swept behind him and jerked his head back by his straggly ponytail. Guns to the back of his head, they began the prayer.

Polinsky whimpered, pleading hysterically for his life.

Connor loosened his hold on the man's ponytail as they neared the end of the prayer, a miniscule movement that would come to hold a significant place on his haunting, unwritten list of what-ifs and regrets.

As soon as he felt the release, Polinsky dove forward, rolling sideways and fishing frantically for something in the pocket of his slacks.

Both brothers reacted immediately, but Murphy was closer, and quickly had Polinsky jerked to his feet and pinned against the wall, the smaller man's neck gripped tightly in his left hand.

Connor covered him from the side, leaving his brother room to maneuver while keeping Polinsky securely in his sights.

"Nice try, motherfucker," Murphy growled, jabbing Polinsky sharply on the skull with the Berreta's silencer when the man gave them both a wide, mocking smile.

"C'mon, let's finish this," Connor said, taking in the criminal's lack of fear with growing unease.

Murphy was shifting to hold Polinsky at arm's length when the sound of another pistol being cocked made him freeze.

_Oh, no._

Connor could see it just beyond the open flap of his brother's peacoat--a small handgun, the kind a woman might carry in her purse, pressed point-blank against Murphy's chest.

"Drop it!" Connor shouted, taking a step closer.

"Did you really think I wouldn't bring a gun of my own?" Polinsky marveled, obviously relishing the moment. "Now back off and tell me who the fuck you are!"

"We're your fucking executioners," Murphy said acidly, releasing his grip very slowly and increasing the distance between them, still mirroring Polinsky's aim. The sheer size of his weapon opposite Polinsky's was almost laughable, if not for the equally lethal potential of each.

"Drop it!" Connor shouted again, taking another step. Murphy and the other man were still too close together; there was no way he could take Polinsky out without risking his brother's life as well.

"Fuck you!" Polinsky cried, glancing at Connor and raising the gun towards Murphy's face. "I'll do it, don't think I won't!"

"Pull that trigger and you'll be dead before you hit the ground."

_Just be patient, Murph, _Connor pleaded silently, refusing to give. _Just wait for him to screw up. _

Connor took another step closer and saw Polinsky's finger tremble, hovering over the trigger.

The sound of a door slamming a few rooms down startled them all, and in the span of a single second, three guns fired and two men hit the floor.

"Murph!"

Connor looked from one fallen man to the other, ears ringing and heart slamming against his ribcage.

Murphy wasn't moving.

_No, no…_

Polinsky had taken both shots squarely in the chest, but was still alive, coughing and choking on his own blood until Connor stepped up and unloaded another dozen rounds into his chest.

At last Connor stopped, watching the black holes fill with blood, the circles of red swelling until they touched, changing the cheap fabric from gray to crimson.

"Thought ye only needed one bullet."

Connor closed his eyes, relief washing over him. He looked down at the Beretta in his hand and popped out the magazine.

"Well, only one round left now," he said, turning to watch his brother sit up slowly. "Find me another evil man and I'll try to give ye a better demonstration."

"That I will do," Murphy assured him, pulling off his mask with a smile, "but not tonight."

"So are ye all right, then?"

Murphy peeled off a glove and pressed his fingers to a gash on his left ear, seeming surprised at the small amount of blood smeared on them. "Feels like he shot the damn thing off!"

"Jesus Christ, _that's_ what knocked you to the floor?" Connor marveled, sinking to his knees next to his brother and examining the tiny wound with a silent outpouring of thanks. "I've had paper cuts that bled more than that!"

"Can I help it if I can dodge bullets? Next time I'll try not to move so fast, get myself a little more respectably bloody for ye."

"Don't even fuckin' think about it."

Murphy grinned and walked over to assess his brother's handiwork. "I think our work here is done."

"Aye, hand me the pennies and let's finish this." Connor said as he joined him, carefully avoiding the spreading pool of blood as he squatted next to the body.

Murphy looked at him with surprise. "You got them, remember?"

"I didn't, this motherfucker pulled up before I could get more out of the bag. You told me you had some!"

"I didn't either! I said they were in the bag!"

"You had them already, you just said there were _more_ in the bag."

"I said--"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Murph, just get over here and say the fucking prayer."

They tried to cross Polinsky's arms over his chest, but the body was so soaked and slippery with blood that the arms kept sliding off to the sides.

"Fuck it." Murphy flung a limp arm down into the puddle and received a splatter to the face in return. "Fuck!"

"Oh, quit your cryin' already!"

"Fuck you, man," Murphy said, lifting his shirt to wipe it off. "That shit got in my mouth! I could get a disease or something!"

"Did you forget that Polinsky was waiting on someone else? I don't want to have to deal with any more shit tonight!"

"Fine!"

"Fine."

They prayed quickly, the sacred words that drifted heavenward now the only evidence that the man's violent death stemmed from a higher purpose.

Aside from Murphy's last minute dash to retrieve the suitcase of money, their exit was relatively easy. Seeing that the huddle of teenagers still blocked the path to the rear door, the brothers slipped across the hall again to the alley exit, Murphy opening his mouth to the rain and spitting repeatedly as soon as he was outside.

The weather hadn't changed much in twenty minutes, but Connor now found he was grateful for the miserable conditions and the cover they provided. There was not a soul in sight; the only indication of life being the ambulance still parked on the street end of the alley, rear doors now open for business.

_Looks like we're not the only ones working out here. _He turned to follow Murphy's splashing footsteps and said a quick prayer that God would watch over whoever was calling for help that night.

**Liked it? Hated it? Fell asleep and drooled onto your keyboard? Reviews make the world go round! Well, my world anyway, but it's the only one I live in…. **


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: I realize this is a seriously long, drawn out intro to a story – after this, the pacing will be a bit more normal, I promise. Monumental thanks go out to GoddessLaughs, the best beta in history! No joke, for all the re-writes she's endured and contributed to, it should be her name on this chapter and not mine… **_

The weather hadn't changed much in twenty minutes, but Connor now found he was grateful for the miserable conditions and the cover they provided. There was not a soul in sight; the only indication of life being the ambulance still parked on the street end of the alley, rear doors now open for business.

_Looks like we're not the only ones working out here. _He turned to follow Murphy's splashing footsteps and said a quick prayer that God would watch over whoever was calling for help that night.

** Chapter 3 **

A rough voice answered him, muffled by the rain, but clear enough to prick Connor's ears.

"Give me the fucking drugs!"

He slowed, but didn't stop, in no mood to deal with a street-scuffle over drugs. Not after what had just happened. All he wanted was some dry clothes and a beer.

"You want a fucking bullet in your brain?"

Jesus Christ, was there never a moment of peace in this city? He paused, reluctantly trying to discern the source of the voice through the wash of the rain.

The voice repeated its demand, louder now and more insistent, and Connor's reluctance morphed into anger as he heard a reply. The words were too muffled to make out, but the voice was unmistakably female.

Murphy was still charging through the puddles and nearing the far end of the alley, oblivious to Connor's dilemma.

_Shit._

Hoping his brother would eventually realize he was making his getaway alone, Connor crossed to the other side of the narrow alley, quickly and quietly following the sounds of the struggle. It was coming from the street, though he couldn't see how or where. There was no one on the sidewalk, and the cars parked along the street all appeared empty. Surely no one would be dense enough to attempt a mugging in such plain view of an ambulance?

The reality of what was happening didn't hit him until he caught a glimpse inside the open ambulance doors.

A tall, grungy looking man with a crooked nose and a baggy brown jacket slouched under the low roof of the ambulance. He held a woman in a navy blue uniform by her blonde ponytail, a gun to her head. The scene sent a sting of ironic deja vu through Connor as he watched it unfold.

The man shoved the paramedic roughly towards the vehicle's supply cabinets while keeping the gun pressed firmly against her temple.

This wasn't a mugging for street drugs; this was a set-up. An addict intent on the quickest way to a free fix.

Connor glanced again down the alley. Where the hell was Murphy?

"Do it now!" The man shoved the paramedic again and she stumbled, letting out a pained cry when he jerked her back up by her hair.

"Okay! Just relax, I have to unlock the cabinet first," she replied, and Connor could tell she was trying to stay calm. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a cluster of small keys that hung from a cord around her neck.

She singled out a key and stepped forward towards the cabinet, but the necklace was too short for the key to reach the lock while still around her neck.

"The cabinet's too high - I'll have to take this off," she said, jingling the keys for emphasis.

"So do it then!" The man answered, glancing out into the night and shuffling impatiently. "Hurry the fuck up!"

"You'll have to let go of my hair, asshole," she spat back angrily.

_What are you doing, girl?_ Connor thought,_ Just give him what he wants and don't piss him off!_

The memory of Polinsky's dive for freedom flashed in front of him and he felt his stomach turn as he realized what she probably had in mind. From where he crouched in the shadows, Connor raised his gun, preparing for the worst.

Sure enough, as soon as the man released his grip on the paramedic, she drove an elbow into his side and scrambled quickly towards the open doors.

But not quickly enough.

The man grabbed her by the back of her shirt, yanking her back so hard that she lost her footing on the wet ambulance floor.

"Do you want me to kill you right now, bitch?" he shouted, jabbing the gun repeated against the back of her head and twisting his grip on her collar until she coughed, "Now unlock the fucking drugs!"

_Shit. _

She stood slowly, her eyes scanning the stormy darkness desperately before turning back to obey her attacker.

Connor watched her open the cabinet and reach inside to pull out a small plastic case.

_Good, now just hand them over and let the bastard be on his way. Don't do anything to get yourself killed._

"That's it--maybe I should start calling once a week," he sneered as he let go of her and reached for the case, "Next time if you're a good girl, I might even tip you."

She uttered no words, only let out a guttural cry of fury and frustration that was followed immediately by a splash as she suddenly flung the case of drugs out into the void.

There was the sound of tinkling glass on asphalt and Connor looked down in momentary disbelief at the tiny, cracked vial that had slid across the surface of a puddle and bumped against his boot.

"What? No—No!" Enraged, the man cracked the paramedic viciously on the head with his gun and she fell to her knees, dangerously close to tumbling out of the ambulance, clutching her head with both hands. "You're going to pay for that, bitch!"

He raised the gun to her head once more, using both shaking hands to cock the weapon.

Connor couldn't wait any longer. All she'd had to do was give the man the drugs and he probably would have left her alone, but instead she had decided to fight back, and now Connor was her only chance.

Drawing his gun and whispering a prayer, he stepped out of the shadows.

"Let her go."

The man recoiled at the sound of Connor's voice, stumbling backwards and jerking the girl in front of him, using her as a shield. Eyes wide and startled, the woman struggled vainly to free herself, a trickle of blood running down her forehead.

"This ain't your business, man," the man growled, fighting to keep hold of his hostage, "So fuck off!"

"Just put the gun down," Connor said more calmly, attempting to get control of the situation. He had few options at a distance of nearly thirty feet, with the girl now blocking any chance at a clear kill shot. He took a slow step toward the man, his free hand outstretched. "You're not getting what you came for tonight, so just let her go and be on your way."

"Fuck you!" The tall man shook his gun furiously at Connor, then quickly jabbed it back against the girl's head. "I'll fuckin kill you both if--"

The lights from an approaching car silenced them all, and Connor held his breath, praying that his luck hadn't just run out. Anyone seeing him standing there in his mask, gun in hand, was bound to assume the worst.

The car passed by without even slowing and Connor resisted the urge to shake his head in disgust. Ah, yes, the indifference of good men. Wasn't that what got this whole thing started?

He watched the woman's eyes follow the retreating taillights of the car, fear and desperation painfully clear across her face as she saw her only chance at salvation slip away. Her gaze flickered to the shadows where he was still half-concealed and Connor met her eyes, willing her to understand.

_Just keep holding on, girl. I swear I'll get you out of this._

"You should've just kept on walking, man." A new voice echoed off the brick alleyway as a second man appeared from the direction of the motel entrance, weapon drawn and aimed at Connor. Silhouetted by the orange glow of the streetlight, this man was shorter and fatter than the first man, with an uneven gait, but his gun was just as dangerous and his tone just as threatening.

Where the hell had he come from?

Connor twitched, his finger tapping against the barrel of his gun, his attention divided between the first criminal and this new threat. This now unbalanced stand-off was making him feel more alone without his twin than he thought possible.

His aim never wavering from the tall man, Connor stole one more glance down the alley. He let out the breath he'd been holding as he took in the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Murphy was walking swiftly back toward him through the rain, a shadow moving among shadows, his gun already drawn and expertly trained on the fat man, although he was still too far away for a decent shot.

"About fucking time!" Connor called to his twin, unable to hide the relief in his voice.

"Christ, I just can't take ye anywhere," Murphy shouted back, his voice echoing down the alley.

"What the—?" The tall man floundered, his gaze flicking from point to point as he tried to locate Murphy.

"Drop that bitch and let's get the fuck out of here!" the second man shouted to his partner.

The tall man shook his head, pointing his weapon at Connor. "No fucking way I'm leaving until I get what I came for." He paused for a moment, glancing up at the sky as if Murphy would come swooping down from the heavens. "Do you hear that, motherfucker?"

Murphy responded with a warning shot, the bullet sending a spray of shattered brick raining down over the tall man and the paramedic.

The fat man jumped at the sound of the bullet meeting stone, but recovered quickly, cocking his weapon and taking a step toward Connor. "Knock that shit off or you're a dead man." Then to his partner, "Let's fucking go, Willie!"

"I fucking told you, no!" The tall man looked back and forth between them, neglecting his hold on the girl in his agitation. He moved his aim back to the girl, then back to Connor again, shifting his weight and his stance each time. "Drugs!" he yelled, his voice wild, "Now! Or she fucking dies!"

Connor could hear Murphy shouting something in reply, but ignored it as he focused all his concentration on the shot he was about to make. It was time to end this.

_Just a little more to the right…_Connor thought, eyes narrowing. _Close enough_.

Then Murphy's flowing French cut through it all.

"_Ye've only one bullet, Con_."

Fuck.

Fuck!

But one was all he needed, right?

As if reading his thoughts, the girl suddenly lurched to the side, finally giving Connor the window he needed. The small black void that was the tall man's missing front tooth made a perfect target. Connor squeezed the trigger, hearing the weapon's report a millisecond after the man's skull disintegrated in a spray of blood and gore, the body toppling backwards and taking the girl down with it.

A searing pain cut through his side before they even hit the floor.

It was painful, but not enough to immobilize him. Murphy roared in anger and the violent pop of the second man's weapon merged with the spit of his brother's silencer.

Connor bolted between the open doors of the vehicle and jammed a spare magazine into his gun, just as the car that had been parked behind the ambulance, apparently not empty after all, roared to life and peeled out into the street. Unbelievable.

He took the briefest moment to make sure the girl was okay. She was backed against the gurney, eyes squeezed shut and hands pressed over her ears, but she didn't appear to be hurt. Another shot split the night and she jumped, hunkering even further back into her cold, blood-splattered shelter.

"Ye'll be all right," Connor told her, not sure if she heard him or not.

Connor rejoined his brother as Murphy took one last shot. A pained cry came from around the open door, followed by a heavy thud against the side of the vehicle. Exchanging a glance, they rounded the door together to find the fat man clutching his leg, his weapon forgotten beside him.

Murphy whacked him on the head with his gun, sending him the rest of the way to the ground. They moved in as one, pressing their silencers to the man's forehead. The movement aggravated the pain in his side, but Connor ignored it, turning his full focus to the task before him.

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord…"

"Wait," a voice came from right behind them, cutting short the prayer.

What the fuck?

"He doesn't need to die."

Connor turned slowly, staring in utter disbelief at the woman whose face and clothing were now smeared with gray matter and blood. The blood of the man Connor had just killed in order to save her life.

Sirens wailed in the distance and Murphy glanced over his shoulder, swearing. "Come on, let's finish this and get out of here."

The girl ignored Murphy, keeping her gaze locked with Connor's, and for the first time since the inception of their mission, Connor felt an inkling of doubt.

He turned back to the man, readjusting his grip on the Beretta. Of course he needed to die, he was an evil man, wasn't he?

He was an evil man. A wounded evil man, and if they didn't kill him, a soon-to-be-arrested wounded evil man with a public service eyewitness and a practically guaranteed conviction.

The sirens were dangerously close now; he had to decide.

Murphy shifted, silently questioning him.

_Fuck!_

With a frustrated sigh, he withdrew his gun, Murphy immediately following suit. The sirens were closing in and Connor saw the flashing lights several blocks up the street.

He took at last look at the woman, who seemed almost reluctant for him to go.

"C'mon!"

Murphy started for the alley and this time Connor stayed right on his brother's heels, not slowing down until he was behind the wheel, making his escape at last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

"Turn that shit off!" Murphy's voice came low and gravelly from across the small bedroom.

Connor groaned into the mattress, searching unsuccessfully with one hand for the cell phone that was chirping somewhere inside in the pile of discarded clothes beside his bed. His fingers found the pocket of his jeans and he dug the blasted thing out, squinting at the tiny display just as the noise stopped. _Seven a.m._

"Who the fuck is callin' so fuckin' early?" Murphy demanded, irritation muffled only slightly by his pillow.

"No one, it's the fuckin' alarm," Connor mumbled, letting the phone drop back to the floor.

"There's an alarm on that thing?"

"Aye, jackass," Connor said, rolling onto his side, "I told you last night I was settin' it, it's Sunday."

His brother grunted in reply, burying his head under his pillow.

Connor moved to sit up, but winced as the sheets tried to come with him.

"Fuck."

He looked down at his left side to find that the bandage he'd haphazardly taped to his ribs the night before had soaked through, the blood seeping onto the bed and effectively gluing the sheets to him in a sticky, crusty mess.

Craning his neck, he tried to survey the damage without making it worse. That drug seeker's bullet had carved a three-inch-long shallow trench through the thin layer of flesh covering his lower ribs. Connor knew he was lucky--make that blessed—that the bullet only caught him where it did. Propping himself up on his elbow, he tried to peel the stiffened cotton off slowly, but the newly formed scab clung stubbornly to it, and he stopped, wincing at the sting.

He heard Murphy get up and shuffle over to him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." His brother leaned over, hands on his knees as he ogled Connor's bloody disaster. "Told you we should've used the fuckin' iron."

Connor felt his stomach turn at the thought of the searing hot metal sizzling against his raw flesh. It was a method they'd used more than once in the past, but one that Connor would like to avoid whenever humanly possible.

He grasped the sheet in his left fist and pressed the fingers of his right hand along the edges of the gash. With a swift yank, he ripped the fabric away, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as he tore the wound wide open.

Murphy grinned at him. "Scar's gonna be a beauty."

"Aye, if it ever stops bleedin'," Connor gritted, pinching the gash closed and breathing through the sting as he applied pressure with both hands. "How's your ear, Holyfield?"

Murphy reached up to touch the small scab. "Damn bullet did take a little bite outta the top," he said, frowning. "Do ye think it'll grow back?"

"You're not a fuckin' lizard, Murphy. Just be thankful it wasn't your head."

"Oh, believe me, I ain't fuckin' complainin'. Jesus, Con, do ye want me to go get the iron, seriously?"

Connor looked down to see blood seeping from between his fingers.

"Shit. Do we have any more o' those bandages?"

"Let me go see, but I don't think so." Murphy left the room, rubbing his bare arms tiredly. Although it was September and still quite warm in the day, the mornings were starting to get chilly. They hadn't yet figured out the thermostat in this new place, and it seemed to never occur to Murphy to put some clothes on, opting instead to wander about in his boxers, whining about how cold he was.

Connor listened to his brother rifling through cupboards.

"Well?"

"Hold on, I'm lookin'!"

A sharp rapping caught Connor's attention. What the hell was Murphy doing in there?

"What the--?" Murphy's voice was quiet, followed by a pause, then the sound of the locks being thrown back and the creak of the door opening.

Who the hell would be at their door at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning?

Connor looked down at the red river flowing down his side and soaking into the waistband of his boxers. He was going to bleed to death right here while his brother chatted it up with God knows who. Well, the sheets were already ruined. He started to pull them off the bed, but then thought better of it and grabbed his pillow instead, pressing it firmly against his side and squeezing it in place with his elbow. He made his way to the living room.

Murphy stood at the door, which he had opened only a crack, a dingy once-white bath towel hastily wrapped around his waist over his underwear. He turned to Connor as he approached, closing the door further on the person standing outside.

"It's that fuckin' kid again," he said quietly, with a slight smile, "wants to know if we've got any cans or bottles he can have."

Connor snorted and looked around the living room.

Thanks to the untimely passing of the previous renter, the place had come already furnished, which thrilled them since they certainly had no furniture of their own, but when they got the keys, it was a little different than what they'd expected. The furniture was in excellent shape compared to what they were used to, but to Connor's complete surprise and to Murphy's delight, the entire apartment looked like a time capsule from the 1960s. From the gold-flecked shag carpeting, to the avocado-colored appliances in the kitchen, to the low, miniature couches covered in a black and white tweed fabric, it was a place more suited to Austin Powers than Charlie Bronson.

He and Murphy had wasted no time breaking the place in, MacManus style. It was actually getting a little over the top lately. Overflowing ash trays, empty take-out boxes, and beer bottles and cans covered nearly every flat surface, and many not-so flat surfaces as well.

Connor started to tell his brother to let the kid come take his pick, but stopped when he remembered the other uniquely MacManus additions they had made the night before. Their black ski masks and gloves had been deposited on the couch, along with their peacoats, and the kitchen table was now host to a grizzly variety of handguns, spare magazines, and ammunition. Next to the sink were piled the bath towels Connor had used to clean his wound last night, now pink with the mixture of blood and water.

"It's too much fuckin' trouble to clean this shit up right now," he said, sighing, "What's he want 'em for?"

Murphy peered back out the door to speak to their guest, and Connor heard him chuckle.

"Hold on there a minute, kid…" Murphy shut the door all the way this time, shaking his head. "He says the Lord's asked him to protect the fuckin' beauty of His blessed green earth. Says it's his fuckin' calling."

"Is it now?" Connor asked. God seemed to be assigning missions pretty often in the last few months. "Ask him how much the Lord's paying him per bottle, and we'll try to see that his good works are properly compensated."

He spied Murphy's money clip on the table next to his ridiculous hunting knife, and slipped a bill out. Walking over to the door, he peered over his brother's shoulder.

A dark-haired boy, maybe nine or ten, dressed in navy slacks and a white, poorly-ironed button-up shirt stared up at him with a look of practiced innocence and expectation.

"Doin' God's work then, are ye?" Connor asked, his brother shifting to the side to give him room.

"What happened to you?" the kid asked, eyes wide.

Connor frowned and looked down – wasn't the pillow covering everything? Oh, except that his blood-covered hands had left red smears all over the pillowcase. And he was in his underwear.

"I, ah, cut myself shaving," he said, bending the pillow to cover his front.

"Oh." The kid said, looking a little worried as he rubbed a brown hand along his own hairless chin.

Murphy snorted.

"Here kid," Connor said, ignoring Murphy and handing the kid the money. "Here's a ten-spot. It's probably more than you'd get for all our shit anyway."

The boy looked longingly at the bill in Connor's outstretched fingers, but shook his head.

"Thanks, mister, but I can't take it." Connor could hear the disappointment in his quiet voice.

"Sure ye can," Murphy said, "We're just savin' ye the trouble of cashin' in all those cans."

The kid looked down and stubbed the toe of his shoe against the carpet, mumbling something about his boss not letting him take charity.

"Hey, now, I don't think the Lord would mind too much."

The kid looked back at the bill in Connor's hand. "It's not God… it's my mom."

"Aha," Connor said, exchanging a knowing look with Murphy. "Tough boss, is she?"

The kid nodded. "She says I can't take any money that I don't earn." He shifted his weight and sighed dramatically. "I'm only supposed to take the cans that people are just going to throw away, and then she's gonna take me down to the place where they trade you money for all the cans you collect."

"I see," Connor said, moving to tuck the bill into his pocket, then remembering there was no pocket in his underwear, and handing the bill to Murphy instead. "What's your name, kid? You roamin' door-to-door by yourself?"

The boy shook his head and shot a glance down the hall to where a second boy stood, hands in his pockets, bulky black garbage bags at his feet. He was smaller and darker than the first boy, and skinnier, with a serious look that seemed out of place on his young face.

"Daniel. That's my friend Omar. He don't talk much."

"He don't, eh?" Omar was watching him with a look that could only be described as mistrust. Connor suddenly felt very inappropriate to be nearly naked and talking to little boys in the otherwise deserted hallway.

A slow creak from across the hall made all three turn to see a pair of wrinkled eyes narrowed at them from beneath bushy white eyebrows and a quickly deepening frown.

"Mornin' Mr. O'Malley," Connor said. "Hope we didn't wake you?"

The old man looked down expectantly at the empty patch of floor outside his door, then scowled up at Connor. Beside him, Murphy swore and retreated quickly into the apartment, returning with a hastily rolled up newspaper.

"Sorry about that, Mr. O'Malley," he said, proffering the paper, "there was this article about that little girl who went missing--"

The old man snatched the paper from Murphy's hand, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like_ goddamn_ _faggots, _and slammed his door again, making Daniel jump.

"Don't worry Danny, he never comes past the doorway," Murphy said with a wink as he shivered and returned to his place next to Connor. "Can't stand to be in the sunlight, ye know."

Murphy crossed himself solemnly.

"You better pray he never gets hold of a calendar and discovers his papers are a day behind, or we'll be needin' us some wooden stakes and holy water."

Daniel cracked a smile.

"Listen, Danny Boy, why don't ye come back later and we'll let you collect as much shit as you want?"

"Really?" Daniel asked, "How much cans you got in there, anyway?" He tried to peer around Connor's pillow but Murphy shifted to block his view.

"More than we probably should, kid," Murphy said, "but that's another story."

Down the hall, Omar struggled to pick up the bags, the clatter of metal and glass echoing through the hall as he pulled them to hang over his small shoulders.

Daniel turned to go. "When can we come back?"

Murphy shrugged and looked at Connor. "This afternoon?"

"Aye," Connor agreed, stepping back into the apartment. "We've got an appointment this morning with our own boss, and we don't want to keep Him waiting."

o0o0o0o

Murphy felt the hard wood press into his knees and began the familiar prayers that flowed so naturally from his lips. He felt his brother's energy beside him, intense and focused as Connor whispered fervent prayers of his own. Inhaling deeply, Murphy savored the familiar, comforting aroma of aged wood and cool stone, candle wax and smoky incense.

It was early, more than an hour before mass, and the pews were nearly deserted, save for the few pious sisters gliding noiselessly across the thin red carpet, replacing bibles in seat pockets and returning kneelers to their upright positions.

The house of God was the most permanent home he and Connor had occupied over their years in America, and today Murphy felt particularly grateful to feel the solid foundation beneath him.

Fingering his rosary, he listened closely to the low, earnest tones of his brother's mea culpas beside him. He knew Connor had to be as torn up as he was about the unexpected turn of the previous night's events, though they had not yet spoken of it.

Pumped full of adrenaline after the shoot-out, both brothers had been all business during their flight from the motel, Connor in rare form behind the wheel of the LTD and Murphy on full alert to make sure they hadn't been tailed. When they had finally pulled to a stop outside their apartment building, they'd sat in silence for a long moment, neither quite finished processing what had occurred.

Connor had looked utterly exhausted as he peeled his gloved hands from their vice grip on the steering wheel, and collapsed back against the seat with a sigh.

"I can't believe you made that fucking shot," Murphy had said finally, with honest admiration.

He'd been relieved to hear Connor laugh, and for once, was more than content to have lost the battle over the quality of his brother's aim.

They'd congratulated themselves on a job well done, exchanging insults and laughter as they hauled the tools of their trade back up the stairs, weapons now tucked safely back into duffle bags, gloves and masks stuffed into pockets. They'd cleaned their guns, dressed Connor's wound as well as possible (though obviously not well enough), and drank a beer each, then another each for Rocco, all the while discussing every aspect of the night except one: the pardoning.

Shifting slightly and reclasping his hands, Murphy recalled the moment of hesitation. What did it mean? He had been fully prepared to pull the trigger; it had been an evil man and it was their calling to rid the earth of evil men. But they had let the bastard go, alive and with no guarantee that he wouldn't be back on the streets someday, threatening another innocent life, only this time with no one there to intervene.

It had been Connor's call. Murphy had automatically deferred the decision to his brother, as he had done a thousand times before and would do a thousand times again. And Connor had made the decision, for better or worse, with Murphy's unquestioning support.

But now the questions were coming unbidden, preventing his peace and restoration like spiders in the sheets of his bed, creeping and black and poisonous. He knew he'd have no peace of mind until they were eradicated.

Were they right to let the man go? Was it an act of mercy or an act of recklessness?

Either way left him unsettled. If it was mercy, then that meant they would have killed a man undeserving of death, that their only saving grace had been the girl's intervention, and that made them no better than the evil men they were sent to destroy. If it was reckless to let him go, then what did it say about their conviction if a single plea could lead them astray so easily?

He wished his Da were here. It was a childish sentiment, especially since their father had only graced them with his wisdom and insight for less than six months in their entire adult lives, but Murphy wished for it all the same. Da would know what they were supposed to do. He'd listen to their questions, nod slowly, taking his time to answer, but when he did, it would be with an honesty and unwavering conviction that scattered all traces of doubt.

How strange it had been to see this indomitable pillar of strength reduced to a mere mortal, imbedded with wires and tubes and surrounded by the beeping and flashing lights, lying peacefully asleep in the Cardiac Care unit of that New York hospital. After a life of passion for the Lord that Murphy could only imagine, and a quarter-century in the turbulent confines of maximum security prison, it was ironically not the violence of man that brought him down, but a tiny clot of his own blood cells, no larger than the head of a pin.

Da's return home to Ireland was the inevitable result, the MacManus family now evenly divided by an ocean. Murphy couldn't help but wonder how much of his own life would be devoted to this mission for God. Would it take being jailed for twenty-five years before he accepted a sign that his calling was complete? Would he even live another twenty-five years? Would Connor?

"Hey," Connor's whisper interrupted his thoughts, "you all right?"

His brother's face was serious, and Murphy nodded slowly. "Just thinkin' about last night."

They sat together in the quiet of the sanctuary, each waiting for the other to bring up what they both knew needed to be discussed.

Finally, Connor broke the silence. "Do you think she'll tell the cops about us?"

"What?" Murphy sputtered, dumbfounded.

"She seemed so…adamant about us not killing that guy. I just wonder if she's seein' us as just murderers, if she'll try to help bring us in – give the Boys a description and what not."

Murphy shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sittin' here ponderin' the fuckin' morals and ethics of the universe and you're daydreamin' about the fuckin' _girl_?"

Connor looked stricken. "I'm not daydreamin', for Christ's sake! It's a serious question! Only a few of the cops are privy to us--"

"I fuckin' know that, Connor."

"Well, if she starts talkin' to the wrong ones, it could be a bit of a problem, that's all." Connor ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"I see your point," Murphy said finally, "We'll try to keep an ear open to the investigation, all right? If it looks like she's gonna cause trouble, we can always make a few phone calls as a last resort."

Connor nodded, but Murphy could see he was still unsettled.

The groan of a heavy door opening behind them, followed by confident footsteps and the gusting flap of fabric told them the priest had arrived; the confession booth was open for business.

Murphy looked up as he passed, surprised to see a stranger in the familiar robes. That wasn't Father Timothy.

This new priest was robust and slightly shorter than average, with salt-and-pepper hair that was a bit too long to be considered conservative. He smiled in greeting and gestured to the confession booth questioningly, but both MacManus men shook their heads in polite but vehement refusal. No way was Murphy stepping into that booth, not today, and especially not with a stranger.

He had never grown completely comfortable choosing his words and dancing around the truth in his recent confessions to Father Timothy; the priest had a talent for making him feel guiltier when he left than he did upon entering. But in all their years in the South Boston parish, the man had never questioned their alternative worship practices, and had always given Murphy the feeling that he was at home, even thousands of miles from the church where he'd grown up. More than that, Father Timothy had a unique understanding of their new situation, thanks to an unforgettable episode with Rocco, a gun and a hung-over Agent Smecker last spring, and despite the underlying disapproval, he generally treated the Saints with the same care and concern as he did the rest of the sinners.

Murphy led the way from the pew and clapped his melancholy brother on the shoulder as he reached the aisle. "Cheer up, man, it was a job well done," He hoped his assurance sounded more convincing than it felt. "A few more loose ends than we'd like, but the world's still a better place today, right?"

Connor gave him a smile. "Right ye are."

Their strides were long and purposeful as they neared the altar, kneeling once more in unison and humbly kissing the feet of their Lord. They made their exit down the center aisle, pausing as one of the nuns glided towards them.

"Good morning, Connor, Murphy," she greeted them, with slight bow of her head.

"Mornin', Sister Margaret," Murphy answered quietly, "Is that a new habit you've got on today?"

The middle-aged woman looked down and smoothed her black robes. "No, no, Mr. MacManus. You know it's the same as ever."

"Aye, well on you it always seems…revived."

Connor elbowed him when she blushed. "Don't mind him, Sister, he hardly knows what he's sayin'. Lord's been testin' him this week and he's had about all he can take."

"I see," she said crisply, and cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure Father Riley will be more than happy to hear your confessions. He's come early today, so you ought to have enough time."

"Riley? Is that the new priest we just saw? Where's Father Timothy?"

"He's on his way to Maine for the conference, of course."

"A conference in Maine? How long will he be gone?"

"Oh, about a month - he'll be visiting some other parishes as well. Father Riley's just moved to the area, and he'll be taking over many of Father Timothy's duties while he's gone: confession, the new parents group, overseeing the school activities…."

Murphy looked at his brother, confused.

"He's been announcing it for weeks in his sermons," she continued dryly, "If you two ever stayed long enough to hear them, you might have known about it."

She had a point there.

"Aye, Sister, you're right as always," Murphy admitted with a wink. "Perhaps you'll say a prayer for our wayward souls this mornin'?"

A terse smile brightened her plain features for a moment. "Perhaps I will."

They offered their goodbyes and Murphy followed his brother through the heavy double doors, pausing briefly to tuck his rosary under his shirt. Connor waited until Murphy lit a cigarette before shaking his head at him with a chuckle.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again – it's going to be fuckin' lonely in heaven without ye."

o0o0o0o


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: Many thanks to Goddess for her brilliant insights and suggestions for this chapter. To my readers: thanks for sticking around!**** Please be sure to punch that little Submit Review button and let me know your thoughts!**

**5 **

"All right, people, let's quiet down and wrap this thing up. The patients don't stop calling just because we're in a meeting."

Leah sighed and topped off her travel mug one last time, preparing to keep herself awake for the remainder of the bureaucratic droning that was Boston EMS's quarterly meeting. Frank Steinhauser, the Head Supervisor, had suggested making the meeting a monthly occasion, but was met with such resistance that he'd given up the idea, instead squeezing three hours worth of stale anecdotes into a mere sixty minutes.

The conference room was the setting for a perpetual game of musical chairs; there were never enough seats at these things, and so the employees were always forced to decide between the need for bathroom breaks and coffee, and the chance of losing their seats to their peers. Leah's strategy was to make sure she got a chair in the back, near the beverage table, keeping her path to caffeine as short as possible.

_Damn, not short enough_. She turned around just in time to see her friend Manny drop into her seat with a little wave and a triumphant smirk. She made a face at him, spying a last folding chair in the back row, and slipping into it just ahead of a tall, balding man whose two over-filled Styrofoam cups put him at a distinct disadvantage.

"Hey, what happened to age before beauty?" the man whispered, glancing around for another seat, then coming to stand behind her.

"Sorry old man, no breaks for you anymore," she whispered back with a smile, settling comfortably into the chair and taking a sip of her coffee.

"How quickly they turn, these kids today," he lamented, leaning against the wall behind him and crossing his long legs at the ankles, "but I suppose I ought to be a gentleman and let you rest after your ordeal."

Leah tipped her head back to look up at him. "Jesus, not you too, John."

"I thought you were going to take some time off."

"I am."

"Forty-eight hours? You've worked overtime shifts longer than that."

"I'm not working," she protested with a frown, "I'm off until Friday."

"What do you call this?"

Leah turned an appraising eye on the lethargic bodies filling the room. "Sleep therapy."

"That'd be a new one for you."

"I'm okay, you know," she said, twisting around to face him. "It was no big deal, really."

"Right." The cynical slant of his brows softened and his face became serious. "Just your everyday job-related mugging." She knew that look, that gaze of concern that, for a paramedic of his experience, surfaced only rarely in its genuine form.

"Seriously, John." Nearby faces turned her way, and she lowered her voice. "Don't look at me like that." She could handle the fragile treatment from most of her peers, but not from the man she had shared a rig with for the last three and a half years.

He gave her an apologetic smile, but she saw his eyes flicker to the side of her face, and she reached up instinctively to touch the bruise on her temple that would be there for at least another week. "It looks much worse than it is."

John's eyes moved away, and he shook his balding head with an expression that Leah couldn't quite read. "Forgive my coddling," he sighed and sipped one of his coffees. "Old habits, you know."

"Better be breaking those habits now, coddling doesn't go over so well for supervisors," she chided, turning her attention halfheartedly back to Steinhauser, who was making some cheeseball joke about budget cuts.

"But if I was still your partner, it'd be okay?"

"Well, it would certainly be a shock to the system," she muttered, glancing over to where her current partner was seated on the opposite side of the room. "Care and concern doesn't seem to be in Steve's job description."

John stood up from the wall and stood directly behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "We're going to take care of that, Leah. It's actually good that you showed up today – you can meet your new partner."

She spun to look at him, incredulous. "What are you talking about? Steinhauser has to okay any mid-year shift changes. He's not going to let me switch just because Steve's too lazy to keep an eye on me."

"No, he's doing it because you're one of the best medics in the city, and you deserve to have a partner you can trust."

Leah blinked, not sure she'd heard her friend correctly. "Are you saying you've already talked to him, it's already approved?"

John nodded, a smug smile on his lips. "There are some advantages to this new position of mine."

Leah resisted the urge to leap to her feet and hug the older man. "But who--"

"—and if I could have _everyone's_ attention up front please…" Steinhauser's voice cut through her banter and she felt, rather than saw, fifty heads turn in her direction.

Leah cringed and turned obediently to face front, trying to ignore the lingering stares that she knew had less to do with her disruption than with her co-workers' morbid curiosity concerning her now infamous encounter with Boston's darker underworld.

"…I'd like to discuss some safety issues in light of …recent events."

A faint buzzing materialized in the air around her. She tried to hold Steinhauser's meaningful gaze, but found it was much easier to look at the ring of dried coffee that crusted the rim of her seldom-washed mug. She took deep swallow.

"I know by now you've all heard about Leah and Steve's altercation over the weekend--"

Leah choked on her coffee. Leah _and Steve's_? Embarrassment forgotten, she felt her cheeks flush even hotter with indignation, and turned her eyes pointedly on the man who had made a conscious choice to avoid altercations of any kind. He actually had the gall to nod graciously at the murmurs of concern being offered him, though she noticed his eyes never once turned in her direction.

"—so I won't go into detail, as it should already serve as a serious warning for all of us to be careful out there. But just a few reminders: always wait for the police to back you up if you think a scene's not safe. You can't do your job if you have to worry about your own safety…"

The reminders continued as they always did, and Leah found herself scoping out the rows of Boston's finest in emergency care, wondering whom she was going to be working with after she returned from her involuntary hiatus.

Alvarez, Jimmy, Alicia, Simmons, Donnie…there were at least a dozen medics she wouldn't mind being paired with, all friends or at least acquaintances whose skills and experience were as strong as her own. Unfortunately, most of them were settled firmly in their current assignments, and Leah knew the supervisors wouldn't be uprooting perfectly satisfied employees, even if they really did think as highly of her as John seemed to believe. There were a few new faces in the crowd as well, that Leah had not yet bothered to meet, having found early on that the newcomers often left as quickly as they came.

With a sudden rumble, the sea of navy blue around her came to life and she realized they had been dismissed. She smiled at each familiar face as it passed, patiently enduring the pats on the shoulder and smiles that she knew were given with the best of intentions, despite the way they grated on her nerves. As the crowd dispersed, she felt a familiar squeeze on her neck and reached up to rest her hand on John's.

"Sleep therapy working after all, eh?"

"I was just wondering who Steinhauser's going to give me." She felt the fingers on her neck relax and slip away.

"I need to talk to you about that, Leah." There was a pause, and Leah let her hand fall back in her lap.

She rose from her chair slowly, his tone making her suddenly suspicious of her apparent good fortune. "What?"

"Steinhauser wants me to handle the switch, since it's in my area."

"Oh, sweet!" She grinned and slapped him on the arm. "Jeez, you had me worried there for a second. Who is it? Alvarez?"

"No, Alvarez doesn't want to move."

"Is it Alicia? Alicia wouldn't mind--"

"She wouldn't mind, but she's got child care issues."

"Oh." Leah leaned on the back of the chair as she scoped out the half-dozen or so employees that remained in the room. Steinhauser was still up front, talking with a few of the newer faces. The two women clearing the coffee and donuts from the table were administrative staff from the main office. The only other person in the room was muddling slowly through the rows of chairs, balancing a plate stacked with what looked like at least four leftover donuts in his pudgy hands.

Leah spun around to John, whispering fiercely, "Goddammit, if you've set me up with Fonchelli--"

"I want you to be a preceptor, Leah."

Her hand slipped off the back of the chair and she nearly toppled over. "Excuse me?"

"We're moving Steve to North End, and assigning one of the new hires here in Southie."

"You want me to train some new guy?"

"Her name is--"

"_Her_ name?"

John raised his brows at her.

This couldn't be happening. Despite the brave face she was putting on, she was still trying to get her head on straight after her disastrous weekend. The last thing she needed was the stress of playing role model to someone else. "Is this because of what happened on Saturday?"

"Jesus Christ, Leah."

"I'm serious. Is this some sort of…_lesson_ they're trying to teach me?"

"Yes. You go and almost get yourself killed, so the bosses have decided to give you some fresh meat to go kill off instead."

She chewed her lip, unable to dismiss the feeling that she was being punished.

"Look, I'm sorry, but there aren't any better options." John sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Not unless you want to transfer back to Roxbury."

She shook her head and looked down at her mug, which was vibrating ever so slightly in her hands. She set it down quickly on the floor at her feet, ignoring the watchful concern in John's eyes. Grabbing the two nearest chairs and folding them up, she set silently to work helping get the chairs stacked out of the way against the wall.

She had worked with John in three different districts of the city of Boston, and had a hard time imagining going back to any one of them with a different partner.

"…and here's the woman that's going to be showing you the ropes…" Leah looked up as Steinhauser approached, followed by a petite brunette whose uniform shirt and slacks were still the saturated dark navy blue that screamed brand-new.

"Leah Solomon, this is Annie Shepherd."

Leah pasted on a smile and shook the girl's hand, trying to look her over without being too obvious. She appeared a little younger than Leah, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five, with a healthy tan on her cheeks that was a little too deep for a local Massachusetts girl. Her sun-streaked hair was pulled loosely back with a clip, and she wore minimal make-up and jewelry, an indication, Leah hoped, that she might require less primping time in the station bathroom than some of her peers.

"Welcome to B.E.M.S. This your first assignment in Boston?"

Annie nodded. "I just finished orientation."

West-coast accent, definitely not from the area. "Where are you from?"

"California…Glendale most recently."

"She just moved into town - she's had Tom down in Dorchester showing her the basics." John added cheerily, but Leah knew it was for her own benefit.

"Great,"Leah said. _So she'll know every company policy, but won't have a clue where the backboard goes_.

There was a beat of silence while each of them seemed to wait for the others to continue. Annie shifted her weight and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"I was sorry to hear about what happened on Saturday," Annie said finally.

Leah felt her face get hot. She knew she should offer more than a tight-lipped smile in response; the utter sincerity in the girl's tone made it difficult to resent her, although Leah was able to manage it.

"That must have been awful," Annie continued when she didn't answer. "Is getting attacked on the job a, uh, common occurrence in Boston?"

"No, not generally. Just here in Southie, so you might want to bring your pepper spray along."

Annie laughed nervously. "Wait, South Boston?" She looked from Steinhauser to John questioningly. "I thought I was going to be working in North End?"

"Change of plans," Steinhauser said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Hope you don't mind."

If Annie was trying to hide the disappointment in her voice, she failed miserably. "Oh…no, I guess not."

Leah tuned them out as Steinhauser launched into some yarn about the interconnectedness of all the city's departments and how Annie would learn to work with all of them in time.

Wonderful, so her trainee had no more desire for this arrangement than Leah did. At least the two of them could be miserable together. Steinhauser wrapped up his speech, and Leah gratefully took the opportunity to make a quick exit. She felt John's eyes on her as she pulled on her jacket and said her polite goodbyes.

"See you Friday at seven," she said to Annie as she strode towards the door. "Don't be late!"

Her smile faded the second she turned her back. What the hell was she going to do with this girl? She had never trained anyone before. Had John been planning this the whole time? To phase himself out of the field and set her up as his replacement?

"Leah…"

She knew what he was going to say - that is was only temporary, that she would do a great job, that this new girl was probably some brilliant rising star that would be no trouble at all. And it might all be true. But none of this was her decision, and the feeling of having no control over the circumstances of her day-to-day life was suddenly overwhelming.

"Leah--"

The metal handle clanked loudly as she pushed the door open and crossed the parking lot, moving instinctively towards the only remaining ambulance and away from John's insistent voice behind her. She was halfway to the rig when she remembered that hers was still in the shop, getting bullets dug out of it. She had driven her car today.

With a curse she turned on her heel and headed for the red Honda Civic parked two rows over. She quickly unlocked the door, hearing footsteps close in behind her. She stilled when she felt a hand grip her arm.

"Leah, wait."

Looking pointedly down at the hand on her sleeve, she waited for him to let go.

John's voice was low, and rimmed with an emotion she wasn't sure she'd heard before. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"It wasn't your fault," she said, startled. How could he even think that?

"I would never have left you alone out there."

"I know, John."

"I just…I just wish it would have been me. If I would have waited just a couple more months before--"

"We might both be dead."

"What?"

"Steve took the easy way out," she said, feeling the pang of indignance colliding with logic, "but it was also the smart way."

John scoffed. "Bullshit. He's a worthless coward. I don't care if he is the mayor's baby boy."

"He's your employee now, you know."

"Not anymore. You think it's an accident he's getting transferred to North End?"

She gave him a small smile.

"The point is – you would never have left me out there alone. You'd have tried to stop them, and probably gotten one or both of us killed in the process."

"Actually, I never would have let you go out alone in the first place."

The words sent a chill up her spine. He was dancing around the truth, brushing past the real reason this new responsibility bothered her so much.

She shook her head and sighed. "I was so stupid, John," she said, the confession barely a whisper, "How can you trust me to be an example for someone else?"

John stuck his hands in his pockets and tapped the toe of his boot against her front tire. "Whatever bad habits you've fallen into are entirely my fault, Leah."

"Oh come on--"

"I mean it - and I'm not trying to be a martyr here. The last couple years I've been – well, I haven't been what a decent medic should be, and it's no wonder that my rebel practices rubbed off on you. I think you working as a preceptor is going to do you a lot of good, help you snap back to those high standards you used to have before I…corrupted you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Leah demanded. "Have I lost a single patient? Have there been any mistakes in my assessments?"

"That's not what I mean," John said, taking a breath and looking up at the sky. "Your assessments are flawless. It's your treatment decisions that are becoming inconsistent. I'm afraid I couldn't see it in my own work, but now I recognize it in you, and I'm hoping this change can correct it."

"Is that what this is really about? Making yourself feel better for slacking off with me?"

"Partly," he admitted, and met her eyes with a sigh. "And I'm worried about you. You used to be so solid, so on the mark, your run reports were like reading chapters out of the damn manual."

Leah scoffed, finding the comparison mildly insulting.

"But lately – lately I've been hearing things…"

"Like what?"

"Like unnecessary sternal rubs?"

"What?," she protested, "Drunks faking unconsciousness to avoid getting arrested, John – you can hardly call that unnecessary."

"Encouraging patients to refuse transport?"

"That was one case – he was combative – and a complete prick."

"I must have missed that assessment on your report."

"He grabbed my ass, for Christ's sake! You'd have done a hell of a lot worse to him."

"Maybe so," he admitted with a grin that lasted only a moment before he stopped tapping the tire and turned to look her in the eye. "But what about refusing to give pain meds to a trauma patient with two broken bones?"

Leah blinked. "Did Manny tell you that?"

"So it's true?"

Leah didn't answer. She still wasn't used to John having so much authority over her, and the seriousness of his tone scared her.

"Leah?"

"He was beating his kid, John."

"What?"

"His hand was broken because his little boy's been hit enough times to know when to duck out of the way. The kid was standing in front of the door when he took a swing at him – kid moved and he hit the door frame instead." She squeezed her fist and felt the keys dig into her palm.

"His kid just told you all this?"

"Not exactly."

"Leah, you're talking about serious charges here. I saw the report – police weren't even called."

"The mother called for the ambulance," she explained. Even now, the thought disgusted her. "Not for the multiple cuts and bruises on the kid's arms and neck, but for the hairline fractures that were causing her poor husband so much pain. Said he did it moving furniture."

"How do you know he didn't?" John asked calmly.

"Jesus Christ, John! Do you think I'm blind? You're the one that taught me to look for the signs, or don't you remember? Am I supposed to not notice that the gash in the doorframe is the same height as the little boy's face? Or that it matches the paint residue in the huge diamond ring on the guy's broken hand – the ring that also happens to match the scar on the kid's cheekbone? Maybe I should just ignore the way the kid cowers behind the woman, and won't speak or even look me in the eye? It's a fucked-up world we live in John, and it's not right for a man like that to go unpunished."

"So, you know how to go through the proper channels. Did you file a report with Child Protective Services?"

"Of course I did, and you know how much good that will do in this city. And the police can't do anything unless the family actually complains. I had to treat that man, no matter how much I didn't want to. I had to transport him. But I didn't have to make him comfortable."

John groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I understand what you were faced with, Leah, you know I do. I know what it feels to have to treat the criminals the same as their victims. It's a shitty part of the job. What concerns me is that it seems like you don't even think about the protocols anymore, you just do whatever feels right at the time."

"I am doing what feels right, John. Do you even remember what that is, or has being a supervisor made you forget everything but politics?"

She watched his face darken.

He took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. "It's not up to you to decide right and wrong. It's up to you to follow the protocols and make decisions based on your assessments, skills, and training."

"So do as you say, but not as you do?" she retorted, gesturing angrily and dropping her keys in a puddle.

When she bent to pick them up, there was hurt in her old friend's eyes, rather than the anger she expected, but it was a valid argument and she didn't take back her words.

"Yes," he said finally, "That's exactly what I'm saying."

His honesty took her by surprise and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Don't you see why I want you to do this, Leah? Can't you understand? I'm not doing this _to_ you, I'm doing it _for_ you."

"For my own good?"

John rolled his eyes.

"All right," she conceded. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was letting herself get too close to the job. Maybe this change would help her put things back in perspective.

"All right?"

"All right, Mom, I'll potty train your new baby girl, if you think it will do so much good for me. I'll be the best preceptor South Boston's ever seen, and I'll do it just for you." Her keys were still dripping and she shook them, watching the droplets fly. "If it'll keep me from any more adventures like last Saturday, I might even thank you for it."

"Thank you." John reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "So you really don't remember what happened?"

There was a tiny piece of fuzz on the cuff of her sleeve and she picked it off carefully, avoiding her friend's eyes. "No, I don't remember."

"They're saying somebody saved you."

Leah felt goosebumps spread across her back and down her arms. "Who's saying that?"

"Manny said he overheard the cops questioning the leg wound guy while Alicia was bandaging you up."

"What else did the guy say?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual, despite the sudden dryness in her throat.

"Just that there were two of them, and they were about to kill him when the cops arrived." John cocked his head and looked at her curiously. "Why, does any of this ring a bell?"

Her hands were suddenly clammy and she wiped them on her pants. "No, not really, I just thought he would have more to say."

"Well, Manny's not exactly the most reliable source, you know. I'm sure the cops would tell you more if you really wanted to know."

"I'm pretty sure they would prefer that I do the talking right now," she muttered, unzipping her jacket and letting the breeze cool her neck. "The PD's not too happy about my memory being M.I.A."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it will come back, in all its Ripley's Believe-it-or-not glory," John said, punching her lightly on the arm.

Leah smiled half-heartedly, not quite knowing if she should be reassured or worried.

John opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to sense her disquiet, and closed it again. To her surprise, he pulled her into a tight hug, then released her quickly and stepped away.

"Well, if you ever remember who it was that saved you…make sure to tell them thanks for me."

She looked up at him. The mid-morning sun was bright and golden, and glinted on the glossy corners of his eyes. He turned away, pulling sunglasses out of his coat pocket and slipping them on quickly.

"They saved me a lot of damn paperwork."

o0o0o0o


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Notes: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far – you guys keep me going! And I see we have some newcomers out there –welcome. Lastly, thanks as always to Goddess, friend and beta extraordinaire!**

**Chapter 6 **

Connor tore the plastic wrapping off of the new bed sheets and shook the folds out with a flourish.

They had intended to spend the last few days close to home, but each passing day seemed to bring new reasons to leave the relative security of their apartment. On Sunday, of course, there was church. On Monday, they made a run to the store for more bandages. Tuesday they ran out of beer, prompting a trip to the corner liquor store. On Wednesday, unwilling to sleep on his blood-crusted bed one more night, Connor bought new sheets, but ended up crashing on the couch anyway, after staying up for the late, late news. Today was Thursday, and no sooner had his bleary-eyed, boxer-clad brother opened their ancient, poorly stocked refrigerator, than he'd closed it again and declared they were going out for breakfast.

Murphy now sat at the kitchen table, foraging through Polinsky's case of money in search of pancake funds while Connor took the opportunity to change out the sheets on his bed.

"All we got are hundreds," Murphy grumbled, and Connor heard him zip the case shut quickly.

"It isn't exactly the worst problem we've ever had," Connor said over his shoulder as tossed the ruined bedding it into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Well it's a bit conspicuous to be droppin' fuckin' Benjamins at the Yolk, don't you think?"

"Guess we'll finally have to give old Janice a proper tip, then. Come here and help me with this, would you?"

There was only silence from the kitchen before Connor heard the case zip open again slowly. "Do you think we ought to get real jobs again?"

"What are you on about?" Connor asked, coming to stand in the door of the bedroom where he could see Murphy down the hall, still seated at the table. "This is a real job. And that there's a real fuckin' paycheck."

Murphy picked up a neatly banded stack of bills and flung it down the hall at Connor, who caught it with one hand. "You know what I mean. If we're going to try to blend back into our old lives, don't you think we need some explanation of how we're making the rent every month?"

Connor thumbed through the money absently, inhaling the scent. "Aye, I suppose you're right," he said, tossing the bills back and returning to the bedding. "What did you have in mind?"

Murphy joined him in the bedroom and took the opposite end of the fitted sheet. "I don't know. Maybe McGerkin would take us back at the plant, you know, just fill in extra shifts and--" He stopped suddenly and squinted at the cotton fabric in his hands.

"What?" Connor asked.

"Did you look at these before you bought them?"

Connor grabbed the material and gave it a close examination in the pale gray morning light. "Fuck."

The sheets were not the plain white he'd thought, but rather featured a tiny, pale pink rose pattern that looked like it belonged on a white wicker day bed, surrounded by dolls and teddy bears.

"At least they're clean," Connor said under his breath, finishing his task with much less enthusiasm than he'd started with.

Murphy's laughter was bordering on gleeful as they headed out the door, checking O'Malley's box at the bottom of the stairs to find the morning paper not yet delivered.

"Jesus, how early do you have to get up to beat the damn paper boy?" Murphy muttered.

Connor hardly gave it a second thought, not quite as concerned with the breaking news as he had been earlier that week.

They had been constantly scanning for reports on Saturday's killings, and although they'd caught nearly every television blurb and scoured O'Malley's paper from front to back each morning, they had yet to come across a story that was even close to the touching on the truth of what had happened.

The first reports didn't even mention Polinsky's death, since the scene outside was deemed immediately newsworthy and the pedophile's body wasn't discovered until late the next morning by two unlucky cleaning ladies. Dozens of conflicting reports followed, some claiming the two shootings were unrelated – just a symptom of the crime and degradation that was growing more and more prevalent in the once-great city of Boston. Others touted conspiracy theories ranging from high-end drug deals gone wrong, to disgruntled legal clients, to (Connor's personal favorite) Polinsky's grown-up victims seeking revenge for the crimes the District Attorney had proven himself unable to punish.

Surprisingly, the execution of the notorious Richard Polinsky was not a story that lingered long in the headlines. Less than a week after the incident, articles regarding the violent assault on a Boston paramedic, and a pretty, female one at that, seemed to better satisfy the public's penchant for the darkly dramatic. Apparently, a criminal getting what he deserved wasn't nearly as profitable as a damsel in distress.

Leah Solomon, that was her name as the papers reported it.

She had apparently given no comment, refusing to offer a quote about her experience to the reporters, but it seemed they'd found out her name regardless, as well as some basic personal information that had stuck in Connor's brain almost as soon as he'd read it. While not his first rescue, it was certainly the first in which the victim had pleaded for the life of her attacker, and a part of him was driven to discover exactly what kind of a person would do such a thing.

She was twenty-six years old, a Boston native, and an employee of the city's EMS department for the last five years. Other than the employment history, it was nothing he couldn't have guessed himself, but he still couldn't help feeling that he knew her from somewhere else, that the night in the alley wasn't the first time he'd seen her face.

Murphy handed him a cigarette as they crossed onto Dorchester Street, one of the main thoroughfares of their little corner of the city. The Broken Yolk Diner's unsightly yellow roof was visible from several blocks away; the squat little restaurant stuck out oddly from the taller brick buildings on either side of it, but it was Connor and Murphy's breakfast establishment of choice, and only partially because it was the _only_ breakfast establishment between St. Augustine's and their apartment. More than a few empty store fronts, liquor stores and bars colored the urban landscape in a darker hue for some, but to Connor, these places had become home. He had to love a town where you could do your sinning and your confessing on the same city block.

They reached the diner and found a booth in the back, ordering their usuals as soon as the waitress came around with semi-clean mugs and a pot of steaming coffee.

"Thank you, Janice," Murphy said with a wink, "Mornin's lookin' brighter already."

"Save the sugar for your coffee, MacManus," the older woman said over her shoulder, but Connor saw her smile as she turned the corner.

"Ah, she loves me," Murphy said with a satisfied sigh as he picked up his mug and glanced at Connor. "You're mighty quiet this morning."

Connor shrugged. "Just thinkin'. When do you want to get started on the next one?"

"Shit, today. I thought you were wanting to ease up a bit until this last one blows over."

"Weird, isn't it?" Connor admitted, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, looking over my shoulder…Feels like that time we fecked that bottle of Jameson from on top of the cupboard and Ma didn't say a word about it for a fuckin' week, remember?"

"I remember all right. You could barely take a drop, so scared were ye that she'd smell it on your breath."

"Aye, but I managed."

"Don't you go running to the cops now to confess like you did to Ma, fuckin' rat."

Connor chuckled. "I think the guilt was worse than the whippin'."

"Maybe for you."

"Well, don't you be worryin' about guilt turning us in. I've not a hint of regret in me, except maybe for your ear there."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Murphy said, touching the spot that was nearly healed except for the dip in the curvature along the top. "Besides, it wasn't your fault for Christ's sakes."

Connor just sipped his coffee.

"Hey, the important thing is - oh, Jesus…" His point apparently forgotten, Murphy nodded towards the front door. "Don't look now, but I think our little friends are at it again. Just there, up by the register."

Connor twisted around to see Danny across the busy room, accepting some bills and handing a newspaper to a man who was paying his check. The man thanked him and headed for the exit, and Danny added the bills to a wad of cash pulled from his back pocket. A moment later, Omar appeared holding another half-dozen papers and handed Danny the one off the top. A uniformed officer got up from a stool at the bar and made his way to the register, unknowingly marking himself as the young entrepreneurs' next target.

"_That's_ where I've seen her before!" Connor exclaimed, the realization finally hitting him at the sight of the officer's uniform.

"Who?"

"The – girl, you know," Connor said impatiently. "I knew I'd seen her before. She's the coffee girl – the one who always gets a cup to go and never stays to eat?"

Murphy didn't answer, just shook his head and smiled into his cup of coffee.

"What? You remember the one I'm talking about--"

"Oh, I fuckin' remember her," he said simply.

"Don't tell me you already knew it was the same girl."

"No, I didn't realize it 'til you just told me, but that's likely because I haven't been thinking about her twenty-four hours a day for the last fuckin' week."

"Oh, come off it, it's not like that. Aren't you the least bit interested to know how she's doing? It's--" He waved his mug as he searched for the right words. "…professional curiosity."

Murphy laughed out loud.

"All right, so maybe it's not so professional. But it's not a fuckin' sin to be wondering."

Murphy opened his mouth for what was surely a smart-ass retort, but a young voice interrupted him.

"Would you like to buy a newspaper? It's our last one."

"Hey there, Danny Boy, hey Omar," Connor said, smiling when the second boy looked away without answering. "So the Lord has you peddling papers now, does he?"

"All proceeds from our business will be donated to a worthy cause," Danny recited with a precocious smile that didn't fool Connor for a minute.

"I see," Connor said. "How much you charging?"

"Only three dollars."

"Three dollars! That's fuckin' highway robbery, boy. I can buy one just outside for a buck fifty!"

"Yeah, but you need change. You got six quarters?"

Connor dug in his pocket and pulled out a few dimes and a nickel. Murphy did the same and produced a handful of shiny pennies and a sheepish smile.

"Lot of good those will do us _today_," Connor said dryly.

"Well, mister?"

"Connor, the name's Connor. And that there's Murphy. Don't be calling me mister, it makes me feel old."

"You are old," Murphy said with a dubious raise of his eyebrows.

"Oh shut it. You're no fresh face yourself. I see how much quicker you are to give up the birthright with every passin' year."

"Birthright?"

"It means the first born son." Murphy explained, tilting his head to try to read the upside-down half of the newspaper Danny held in front of him.

"I know, like Jacob and Esau, right? Jacob got the birthright just for giving his brother some soup!"

Connor studied the boy, impressed. "That's right. Seems like an unfair trade, though, don't ye think? I would have held out for a steak and a pint at least."

Murphy chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Well? You want it or not?" Danny asked.

Connor looked at Murphy. "You know, for a salesman, he's not very convincing."

"Yeah, kid, can't you do better than that? At least give us the headlines."

Danny sighed, shifted his weight, and began to read. "Mayoral Challenger Mancini Takes Tough Stance on Violent Crime…Boston to See Return of Indian Summer…Lucky Suites Shooters Getting Away With Murder –"

"What now?" Connor asked, reaching for the paper. "Let me see that."

Danny stepped back out of reach, still reading, "Witness Testimonies Yield No Suspects in Ongoing Investigation." He tucked the paper under an arm, holding out his other hand expectantly.

Murphy swore under his breath as he retrieved his wallet, handed the boy three dollars and snaked the paper for himself. Normally, Connor would have demanded his brother read the article aloud, but not wanting to arouse undue interest from their present company, he willed himself to be patient.

Witness testimonies yield no suspects? Had the girl not talked after all? Of course, having no suspects could mean anything. Two men, medium builds, wearing black masks and jackets - it was hardly a sketch artist's wet dream. If only he'd had the presence of mind to disguise his damn accent. It was the simplest thing in the world to do, but unfortunately he'd been concentrating on other things at the time.

More than the Irish accent though, Connor wished Murphy could have found some other way, _any _way, to remind him of his one remaining round without having to say it in French. The distinction wasn't incriminating in itself, but when combined with the other details, there wasn't a cop in South Boston that wouldn't immediately recall the linguistically gifted MacManus brothers from last St. Patrick's day. Although things had gone unquestionably in their favor that day, the fact remained that he and Murphy had been on the police department's radar before, and a few words from a well-meaning witness were all it might take to put them back there again.

Connor cleared his throat loudly and began to drum his fingers on the table.

"Jesus, patience is a virtue you know," Murphy said at last, pushing the paper towards Connor, his index finger lingering briefly on a short paragraph at the bottom of the page. Connor heard him ask the boys about the success of their business as he began to read.

_Five days after two men were shot to death at South Boston's Lucky Suites motel police have yet to arrest a single suspect. Inside sources suggest that the slow progress may be due to a lack of witness testimony. Although there were two surviving eyewitnesses of Saturday's violent shoot-out, authorities are still without accurate descriptions of the perpetrators. The Herald's own expert source, former Massachusetts State Policeman Benny Flynn, believes that police should start the search with the late attorney's known associates. "There were no signs of forced entry to Polinksy's room, which tells us that he knew his killers," Flynn explains, "In addition, there was no suitcase found in his room, no toiletries, no change of clothes...it was likely a meeting of some sort." Police are still refusing to comment on the case, citing the ongoing investigation._

Despite the varied versions of the story, there was a common thread, or rather a common omission that nagged at Connor: not once had the Saints been mentioned. Connor wasn't sure what to think about that. It was good, he supposed, that the manhunt had not yet revived itself; it certainly made day-to-day living easier for them. But a tiny part of him was irritated that God's message was getting lost amid all this journalistic speculation. He sat back and took a drink of his coffee, meeting Murphy's eyes over the top of the mug and reaching a silent agreement. _Next time – no mistakes_.

"…so if we get a dollar fifty for every one we sell, and we got fifteen papers, that's…" Danny bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling. "…twenty-two dollars and fifty cents – eleven twenty-five each."

Connor chuckled at the look on Murphy's face. Math had never been his brother's strong point. "You always pay attention in school, kid?"

Danny shrugged. "Mostly. My mom says it's real important I do good now that I'm at St. Auggie's."

"St. Augustine's, the school run by the parish?" Murphy asked.

Danny nodded. "Omar goes there, too. We're in the same class."

"That right, Omar?" Murphy asked.

Omar nodded, his eyes on the floor as a waitress with a precarious tray scooted sideways past him.

The boys seemed to have no intention of leaving, so Connor cleared his throat and slid over in the bench seat, making room next to him. "What's this worthy cause you're raising money for?"

Danny looked up at him, surprised when Connor gestured to the empty seat with a nod. Murphy mirrored his movement on his own bench seat a moment later.

"Oh, you know, for church…" Danny answered as he sat down. All three looked at Omar expectantly, who seemed very uncomfortable to be put on the spot. "C'mon Omar…it's all right."

The smaller boy stood perfectly still, a look of desperation spreading across his young face. At last, he whispered fiercely to his friend. "_Non posso. Sono contrassegnati dal diavolo!_"

There was a moment of stunned silence before Connor met Murphy's eyes across the table and they both burst out laughing.

"Marked by the devil!" Connor exclaimed when he caught his breath. "Who's been filling your head with that garbage, boy?"

Omar's eyes grew wide as saucers and for once it seemed his silence was due to a legitimate loss for words.

"If anything, these are marks of the angels, boy," Murphy said, extending his right hand towards the boy to show him the Latin word tattooed along his index finger. "See that? It means justice."

Omar's only movement was a barely perceptible lean forward as he appraised the mark, and Murphy continued, "Connor's got one like it, only his means truth." Connor held out his own hand obligingly and let Omar study the letters.

"So cool…" Danny breathed. "Did it hurt?"

"It wouldn't be cool if it didn't," Murphy told him seriously, then turned back to Omar and pointed to the mark on his neck. "This one here is the Blessed Virgin."

"And the holy cross," Connor said, setting his forearm on the table. "You can't be thinking the devil had anything to do with that, now can ye?"

Omar's brows furrowed. "_La mia nonna dice che il corpo è tempiale del dio ed è un sin per mettere un contrassegno su esso._"

Connor sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that reprimand. "Well, you can tell your grandmother that we don't put any marks on these temples unless they mean something very special."

Omar took a step forward and leaned on the table, extending a finger tentatively to trace Connor's intricate celtic cross. "_È molto bello_," he admired shyly.

"_Grazie," _Connor replied. "I think it's beautiful too. T'was a very talented man who did these for us."

Janice appeared with a tray of hot food and smiled tensely at the boy blocking her path to the table. "You staying or going, kid?"

Omar bit his lip and sat down gingerly on the very edge of the seat next to Murphy. Connor exchanged a smile with his brother, but refrained from comment, lest he scare the boy off entirely.

"Are you gonna get any more?" Daniel asked when the food had been served and the waitress disappeared.

"That's the catch with tattoos," Murphy said as he dug into his pancakes. "There's always just one more."

"What will you get?"

Connor caught the flicker of emotion in his brother's eyes before Murphy looked back down at his breakfast. "It's to be very special indeed, a sort of memorial to a very good friend." He slid his side of toast over to Danny silently.

"Wow, thanks!" Danny said gratefully, giving one of the slices to Omar. "Did your friend die?" he asked from behind a mouthful of bread.

Danny was nothing if not direct, but Connor wasn't about to lie to him. "Aye, he did."

Danny nodded seriously and Connor was touched by the child's simple understanding. "My dad has a tattoo to remember his brother. He was a soldier in the army. Did your friend die fighting in a war?"

Ironic, for it was closer to the truth than most people would ever know. "Aye, Danny, it was a war to be sure. He was a very brave man."

Connor noticed Danny was watching Murphy intently.

"Hey, what about that one?" Danny asked suddenly, pointing to a small star inked just above the Latin word on Murphy's hand. He turned and scrutinized Connor's hands as he cut into a link of sausage. "You don't have that one."

Murphy frowned and ran the thumb of his other hand across the mark slowly.

Connor grinned and whispered conspiratorially to Danny, gesturing at Murphy's hand with the bite of sausage on his fork. "Ah, now that one may in fact be the work of the devil."

He'd meant it as a joke, but Murphy didn't laugh, just gave a tight smile and turned to gaze out the window, a distant look in his eyes.

"Uh-oh." Danny said suddenly. "Uh-oh, what time is it?"

Connor looked at his watch. "Seven thirty-fi--"

Both boys scrambled to their feet. "Gotta go – late for school. Thanks for the toast!" Danny called over his shoulder as they tore down the aisle and out the door, narrowly missing Janice on her way to refill the coffee and deliver the check.

Connor glanced at his brother, always amazed at the speed in which Murphy could finish off an entire platter of food. Murphy downed the last drops of his coffee, looked at the check, and fished the hundred out of his wallet.

"Damn kids took my last ones," he said with a shake of his head, "Guess Janice gets that proper tip after all."

He started to slide out of the booth but Connor stopped him. "Murph."

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry for what I said before."

Murphy shrugged dismissively.

Connor continued when he didn't answer. "I shouldn't have said that. I guess I just thought--"

"No, no you're right," Murphy said, the nonchalance in his voice at odds with the expression in his eyes. "It's been, what, three and a half years now?" He looked down at his hand and rubbed his thumb across the star again. "I actually haven't thought about her in a long time. It's just whenever I do, I think about Rocco too, the four of us…." He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "It's a slippery slope, you know?"

He smiled and Connor's heart went out to him. In all aspects of life, Murphy did nothing halfway. In his devotion to God, in his passion for their work, in his loyalty to his friends – Murphy gave of himself fully and without reservation. For better or worse, it was the same with his heart, and it hadn't always been for the better.

"I know, Murph."

They rose together, Connor giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze as they passed though the exit. By the time they reached the street, Murphy was smiling again, cigarette in hand, already discussing the strategy for their next hit.

o0o0o


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Okay, so I'll just…wait here, then." Annie said to the back of Leah's head as her preceptor strode towards the offices in the center of the busy police station without so much as a backward glance.

Annie eyed the worn and sticky-looking chairs in the waiting area, but opted to remain standing at the far corner of the counter as she didn't feel ready to commit herself as a customer of the department just yet.

She smiled weakly at the female officer behind the front desk, but received only a wary raise of thinly-penciled eyebrows in response. Across from her, two teenage boys with baseball caps and baggy pants sat wide-legged in their chairs, staring stonily at Annie when she glanced in their direction. A few seats down, a woman holding a blonde, curly-haired little girl on her lap looked distinctly out of place, while an unshaven man in a well-worn tweed jacket appeared quite at home with his head resting against the wall, mouth open, apparently asleep. The South Boston police department was a proverbial slice of Americana, no less varied than a Greyhound bus station or the line at the DMV.

After five minutes of feeling like a bug under glass, she decided to take her chances with the chairs, and was debating on which looked the least contaminated when the unmistakable voice of a Southie native rang through the station doors.

"…had enough of the bastard, and took a fucking five-iron to his head while he was asleep. Three good whacks and that was all she wrote. That was all she fucking wrote…"

A tall young man in an unembellished suit pushed thorough the smudged front doors, stopping to shake the rainwater from his clothes and hair as only a dog should be able to do. He was followed by two older, similarly damp and markedly less energetic men, one of whom carried a Grady's Grinders bag, and the sight of the foil-wrapped sandwiches poking out the top made Annie's empty stomach growl loudly.

"Jesus, Sammy," the younger man said, pausing in front of the drunk he'd awakened, "It's a bit early for happy hour, isn't it?"

Sammy scratched the stubble on his jaw and scowled at the clock mounted over the front doors, then mumbled something rude and settled back against the wall.

"My God, you're absolutely right," the heavier man said to Sammy apologetically, then turned to share a grin with his partners, "It's five after noon, he's in the clear."

Before they could round her desk, the reception officer croaked at them.

"Detective Duffy, the chief wants to see you right away."

"Just me?" Duffy asked.

"Just you."

"Ooh, the principal's office," the younger man said, "Told you those hookers were nothing but trouble."

"I'm sure it's just a promotion," Duffy replied, straight-faced, "He wouldn't want you two to be jealous."

The heavier man's comment was lost as they headed in the same direction Leah had gone, and Annie frowned to herself. Duffy was the name of the man Leah was supposed to be giving her statement to, which meant she hadn't even gotten started yet. The younger detective glanced back at her almost as an afterthought just before he disappeared around a corner.

She sighed and sat down gingerly on the edge of an empty seat, giving a smile to the little girl who stared unabashedly at her. She might as well enjoy the few minutes of relative peace. At least Leah couldn't bitch at her if they weren't in the same room.

So far, today was turning out to be the worst first day on the job she'd ever experienced. She should have known. Rainy days seemed to despise her as much as she did them. She should have expected that the "very reliable" old Datsun she'd gotten a great deal on three weeks ago would choose today to not start. The resulting taxi ride across town had cost her thirty-seven dollars, which she couldn't afford, and delayed her an additional half hour, which she _really_ couldn't afford.

By the time she got to the station, Annie could only apologize profusely and try her best to complete the shift-change duties as quickly as possible so the previous day's crew could go home. Of course, since she'd never done any of them before, it took her twice as long as it should have, making the other crew stay late anyway.

Leah had curtly brushed aside her apologizes, concerned only with the depth of her new trainee's medical knowledge and her ability to put it into practice, much to Annie's chagrin. She'd survived paramedic school through willpower and hard work alone, struggling through her science courses and finishing closer to the bottom of her class than the top. She had taken the National Registry three times before passing, and still had trouble sticking needles into other people's skin. But she was committed to succeeding in this new career, to turning over this new leaf and leaving her childish dreams and aspirations in the past where they belonged. Until this morning, she'd been thoroughly convinced it was possible.

She had only been on the clock for four hours, but it may as well have been four years; everything she'd learned in school had slipped from her mind at the sight of her first patient, gone in the way of old locker combinations and phone numbers – vaguely familiar but ultimately irretrievable.

The lovely Miss Solomon had turned out to be a drill instructor with standards so high, Annie was sure they were impossible for anyone to meet, except perhaps by Leah herself.

Annie leaned back into the chair and rubbed her temples, carefully reviewing the day's mistakes and the subsequent lectures from Leah, trying to separate her embarrassment and resentment from the lessons and advice she could make good use of.

Before she could slip too far into the unpleasant reverie, however, the young detective reappeared.

"You Annie?" he asked, stopping in front of her so she had to lean back to look up at him. He'd removed his wet suit jacket, and the rumbled gray shirt and bland tie he wore gave the impression of someone who dressed out of necessity, rather than any conscious interest in style.

She nodded.

"I'm Detective Greenly," he said, eyeing the rest of the people in the waiting area. "You'd better come with me."

"Am I…do you need to talk to me about something?" she asked as she stood slowly. They were sorely mistaken if they thought she could shed any light on the case they were investigating.

"Just whether or not you've had lunch," he said, placing a guiding hand on her shoulder and weaving a path through paper-cluttered desks towards the glass windows and mini-blinds of the detectives' offices.

"Lunch?"

"You know, that meal between breakfast and dinner? We've got some sandwiches…"

"Oh no, I'm fine..." she began, but stopped herself when her stomach growled again in protest. "Actually, I haven't eaten since six this morning. We tried to stop for coffee earlier, but the forces of old age and gravity conspired against us."

Greenly laughed. "Well, your partner's just gotten started, so you ought to have enough time for a grinder." He led her around a corner into a smaller room, where one of the other detectives reclined in a swivel chair, legs propped on his desk, eyes glued to the seventies cop show rerun on the television mounted high in the far corner. He quickly put down his sandwich and stood to greet Annie.

"Detective Dolly," he said, swallowing. "Not many appetizers in reception these days, it's hard to find good help. Grinder?"

"Thanks!" She gratefully accepted the tin foil treasure he offered and took a seat in the chair opposite his desk, unwrapping it immediately and inhaling deeply. "God, I love the smell of corned beef."

"Mm-hmm," Greenly agreed heartily, his mouth stuffed with the spiced meat. "I could eat at Grady's every goddamn day."

"Don't we?" Dolly asked, patting his spare tire in mock regret.

She could hear muffled voices coming through the office door behind her, and presumed that's where Leah was being questioned. The three ate in sated silence, Annie thoroughly enjoying the pleasant and friendly atmosphere that was a welcome respite from the tension in the ambulance. The cop show ended and she absently watched the local news brief that followed.

"_Police were baffled today by the death of a Northhampton man whose house exploded after having been sealed off and filled with natural gas. The blast shook the homes of residents four miles away, and shattered windows in a nearby church. According to neighbors, the man may have been attempting to solve his termite problem with a poorly conceived plan to self- fumigate his home, however, authorities are not ruling out foul play at this time…"_

Annie tried and failed to suppress the giggle that escaped her, until Greenly's snort of laughter broke the silence.

"Foul play, my ass!"

"What was it my dad used to say?" Annie mused, "'Never assume malice for what stupidity can explain.'"

Dolly chuckled. "I'm going to have to write that one down. Sounds like a smart man, your father--must be a detective."

Annie smiled. "Thirty years on the force. He's retired now, and solving more crimes than ever before, much to my mother's irritation. I swear she'd like to give every convict just one more chance to 'make better choices.'"

"Ah, so she's one of those types," Dolly said knowingly, "Duffy's wife is that way. Mine's got all the cases solved before dinner's over – the homicides especially. By the time I turn out the light she'll have handed me my suspects, motive, opportunity…It's really just a song and dance I put on here at the station. Laurie's the real brains behind this operation."

"Sounds like an interesting woman," she said with a laugh. "Definitely not the devil's advocate my mom insists on playing."

"So how'd she end up marrying a cop?"

"One of the great mysteries of the universe," Annie said, shaking her head. "Mom was living the life of a flower child at Berkeley, Dad was a rookie cop just out of the academy. As the story goes, there was a big protest rally on campus, local cops were called in for support when things got out of hand…she was cuffed and read her rights, but never booked. Apparently he let her go free when she promised to go out with him."

Dolly let out a low whistle, but Annie could see he was amused. "A man can get in a lot of trouble for that nowadays."

"Oh, no kidding. But back then I think they just called it love at first sight."

The story was a good one, and always brought a laugh, but deep down Annie would always find it classically romantic. To think that two people who believed so strongly in contrasting ideals could find love and make a wonderful life together lit a tiny spark of hope in her. If it could happen for them, against such odds, maybe there could be a second chance for her.

The news continued with an update on the weather – more rain, but with the promise of a heat wave to come. After that was a report on the increasingly heated race for mayor.

"_In a press conference today, Boston mayoral candidate Tony Mancini revealed his plan for reducing crime in the city, a hot issue for many voters in the upcoming election. Calling it his 'War on Violent Crime,' Mancini claims his plan can increase effectiveness of existing law enforcement without any additional cost to taxpayers."_

Mancini's sound bite was drowned out by strings of curses from the two detectives, as well as from two other officers who just happened to be walking past. Along with Greenly's well-aimed pitch of his sandwich wrapper at the screen, it was more than enough to convince Annie that she'd best keep to herself the fact that her roommate worked on Mancini's campaign.

Greenly rooted around on his desk with one hand. "Where the fuck is the remote?"

"Leave it there," Dolly commanded when Alex Trebek's face flashed onto the screen.

Greenly looked up and scowled like a child. "Aw, come on, not again! You guys watch this shit everyday!"

"Study. We study this shit everyday," Dolly corrected. "I'm not going to be the one responsible for losing our asses to Fire again next week. No way in hell are those meat heads beating us after that upset last spring."

"Those kids aren't gonna be asking the capital of fucking Argentina--"

"Buenos Aires," Annie and Dolly said together, both laughing when Greenly rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair with a disgruntled huff.

"What kids aren't going to be asking you the capital of Argentina?" Annie asked, but was interrupted by a low creak from the office door, and three heads turned to watch it open slowly.

"…and then I just remember looking around and seeing all the blood…" Leah's voice drifted through the crack in the door and Annie caught a glimpse of her preceptor's slim form perched stiffly a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The sight couldn't have been more surprising to Annie - where had the authoritative, controlling drill sergeant gone?

Dolly got to his feet and pulled the office door closed firmly. "Faulty latch," he explained, "Been broken for months."

"And nobody seems to be able to fix it," said the man with the yellow ochre tie who walked in and reached for the last sandwich in front of Dolly. Against his pale blue shirt, the bold color was jarring, and Annie wondered if the effect was useful in catching criminals off-guard.

"Fix it? And miss Smecker's tantrums every time it pops open?" Dolly winked at Annie.

"Yeah," Greenly added, "The job's got a bit more _sparkle_ when the agent's around."

Agent? Annie had assumed they were all police detectives.

"You must be Annie," the new man said, offering her his hand, "John mentioned you'd be working with Leah today. She's a hard woman to get a hold of! Thought I was going to have to get a subpoena just to get her to come in and give a statement. Turns out her supervisor's the only one in the company who's got her home number."

"Detective Duffy?" she asked, now recognizing him from earlier. She glanced at the door Dolly had just closed. "So you're not--"

"Change of plans," he said with a tight smile, and turned to his partners. "Chief's got me on the missing child case now that the Lucky Suites has been taken over."

Taken over by whom? she wondered. The South Boston precinct wasn't exactly a small town operation. "Who did you say was taking Leah's statement?"

"Agent Paul Smecker," Dolly said, his eyes on the TV as Alex read another clue. "What are kalamata olives?"

"Agent?" The title could be associated with any one of a hundred agencies, but she couldn't think of any that didn't spell trouble.

Dolly and Duffy exchanged a glance and seemed to reach some sort of agreement.

"The homicide she witnessed has some people pretty pissed off," Dolly explained. "It's kind of hard to build a federal case against a guy when he's in a drawer in the morgue - What is Tzatziki?"

"But I thought he was just some drug addict looking for a fix?" Annie asked, unable to squelch her curiosity. "The papers said he had some prior convictions, but it didn't seem like anything an…agency would care about."

No one answered, other than in the form of a question, and Annie felt her first-day jitters return. She didn't have any more business getting in the middle of this than she did sitting behind the wheel of that ambulance.

She was about to apologize for sticking her nose where it didn't belong when Dolly glanced around behind him, then leaned forward. "It's the first vic they're interested in," he said quietly. "The two deaths are connected, according to ballistics."

"Oh." What was Leah involved with here? Annie began to feel sorry for her new partner, in spite of her resentment for being treated like an idiot. A dozen more questions nearly popped out of her mouth, but she beat them back. It was flattering that the detectives were willing to be so candid with her; she thought it best not to press her luck. She turned her attention to the TV instead. "Who is Claude Monet?"

"Nice one," Duffy admired when her answer was confirmed.

"Fine Arts major," Annie said. "Can't remember how to take blood pressure, but by God, I can tell you who painted those fabulous water lilies."

"First day?" Greenly asked, grinning at her when she nodded tiredly. "How's it going so far?"

"All right I guess," she lied.

"Just all right?"

She looked at her watch. "Only nineteen and a half more hours to go."

"That bad?" Dolly asked.

Annie pressed her lips together. How could she put this? "I just keep telling myself that it's statistically impossible to do _everything_ wrong. Surely I'll do something right by accident at some point."

The detectives laughed and Annie realized how much it helped to feel like someone was on her side.

"But at least you've got Leah to help you out, right?" Dolly pointed out, "The guys have nothing but good things to say about her, and she's only been in Southie since, what, last April?"

"Had to be March," Greenly corrected, "She was already here when…you know."

Annie saw Dolly glance at a bulletin board mounted on the wall under the TV. On the board was a messy hodge-podge of newspaper clippings, most of which had yellowed with time, and some of the older ones had simply been tacked over. She squinted to read the headlines, but it was too far away.

Dolly cleared his throat. "Anyway, the point is – I'm sure you can learn a lot from her."

"Of that I have no doubt," Annie said after a beat. "She seems to be…incredibly competent."

"And I bet that translates into one tough boss," Dolly said, impressing her with his more than accurate assessment.

"Well, don't let her get you down," Duffy encouraged, crumpling the foil from his sandwich into a tight ball. "Who is Jack the Ripper? Sometimes the toughest bosses turn out to be the best."

"I don't know," Annie admitted worriedly, "I missed her bumper by _inches_ this morning just maneuvering out of the parking lot – Who is Renoir? - I think I'll be lucky just to survive the shift."

"Oh, that's nothing," Greenly said, throwing Duffy a wicked look, "Tell her about the fag-man."

Annie raised her brows, intrigued that such a seemingly straight-laced man would have such a controversial sounding story to tell. "Fag man?"

A smile slowly grew on Duffy's face as Greenly continued to razz him, and at long last he gave in and turned his attention to Annie.

"It was one of the first days Smecker was working with us," he began, his sheepish smile making him look years younger. "Now you have to understand, he's a very smart man, really one of the best at his job, but sometimes his _personality_...well it can be a bit colorful."

"Like a rainbow," Greenly added.

"Ah," Annie said, understanding completely. She had made more than a few friends of similar taste in her years studying art.

"Who is the Green River Killer? It was a multiple homicide, really bloody scene," Duffy continued, "He was pressing us for theories, and I meant to say that the killers' main target was the fat man, but it came out as--"

"_Fag_ man?" Annie whispered, hands pressed over her mouth as she imagined his humiliation.

"It just came out." Duffy shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it himself. "I thought Dolly was going to piss himself."

Dolly laughed. "I thought I was, too…What is calamari?"

"So what did Agent Smecker do?" Annie asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He just said something about Freud and went right on figuring out how nine Russian mobsters ended up dead in one fancy hotel room."

Annie's heard a ringing in her ears and felt her palms go clammy. "Did you say _nine _Russians? This wasn't, um, last spring was it?" she asked, glancing again at the bulletin board of clippings, but finding herself suddenly unable to rise and take a closer look.

Duffy didn't seem overly surprised at her response. "So you heard about it back in – California is it?"

Annie nodded, chiding herself for being so easily shocked that these men were involved first-hand. "I think the whole country heard about it. Three crazed vigilante killers acting out their warped system of justice one blood-bath at a time? I think my dad would've loved to come out of retirement to help solve that one." The detectives each nodded in agreement, but Annie was surprised no one chimed in to support or even contradict her take on the matter.

Dolly was looking at her with the same knowing expression he'd had when she'd described her mother. "Most people you talk to have a pretty strong opinion one way or the other," he said carefully, "It's not a topic that's easy to be neutral on."

Duffy cleared his throat, and Annie knew without a doubt that a subject change was coming. "Well, your partner ought to be about done with her statement by now," he predicted, "Who is Ted Bundy? We'll probably have the perps in custody before dark."

He smiled at Annie, and for a moment his eyes looked like her father's. Maybe that was the reason she felt compelled to confess what she knew, however little it might be.

"You know, I hate to tell you guys this, but I'm pretty sure Leah doesn't remember anything about that night," she said, playing with the tin foil wrapping from her sandwich. "What is Botticelli's _Birth of Venus_? - I hate to use the word amnesia, but--"

"Traumatic memory loss," Duffy said, lobbing the empty wrapping from his own sandwich into the wastebasket by Greenly's desk. "One of the most frustrating obstacles to a successful investigation."

"What can you do for it?"

Dolly raised his brows doubtfully. "Not much – What are grape leaves? – When the case calls for it, the interrogations can get pretty brutal. Sometimes we get what we need, sometimes we don't."

"But the shrinks usually have their work cut out for them by the time we're done," Greenly added. "Who is Roger Clemens? Ha!"

Duffy gave his young partner a withering look. "Don't worry," he assured Annie, "Leah's got nothing to worry about. We take care of our own."

Annie had no doubt that they did. The world of public service was rife with departmental rivalries, but as her father's career had shown her, it was also home to some of the most fiercely loyal men and women she'd ever meet, with some employees even edging into gray areas of the law in order to protect one another.

Agent Smecker's office door opened behind them, and she turned to see a slim, sharply dressed man holding the door open for an exhausted looking Leah, who to Annie's surprise, gave her a relieved smile.

The agent followed her out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything else," he said, and handed her his business card.

"I won't," Leah said, "I mean, I will." She closed her eyes a moment and took a breath. "I'll call you," she said finally, flushing.

The contestants reached the end of the Double Jeopardy round, and all eyes in the room fixed on the Final Jeopardy question. The category was Television.

"_It's the longest-running prime time sports show in the history of network television."_

"Wide World of Sports," Dolly guessed immediately.

"Nah, it's ESPN," Greenly said.

Dolly groaned. "That's a channel, not a show."

Duffy's brows furrowed for a long moment before he agreed with Dolly's guess.

Dolly looked at Annie, "What do you think?"

"Me? Count me out, the only sports I watch are the Olympics."

"Blasphemy," Leah said, shaking her head with a smile, "Another strike against you, girl."

Annie decided she preferred the teasing to the lectures, and began to feel a tiny bit better.

"ESPN Sports Center?" Leah suggested.

"That's what I meant." Greenly grumbled, glaring at Dolly.

The detectives turned to Smecker one by one as the Thinking music drew to a close. Smecker had his thin lips pursed, as if relishing a secret he was in no hurry to share.

"What is Monday Night Football?" he answered, the absolute certainty in his voice and expression leaving Annie with little doubt he was right. He looked like a man who got what he wanted; she hoped he hadn't been too hard on Leah in his crusade to solve his case.

Annie rose from her chair and came to stand next to her partner, who was rubbing her temples as the contestants' answers were revealed.

Monday Night Football. Smecker was right.

He graciously accepted the mix of praise and jeers from the other men.

"Damn, I can't believe I missed that," Leah muttered, "What is wrong with me today?"

"Better figure it out before next Friday, or you're goin' _down_," Greenly told her.

"What's next Friday?" Annie asked, suddenly wary. She and Leah were scheduled to work that day.

"The fair at St. Auggie's" Greenly said, as if it were more than obvious.

"There's a school fair at one of the local Catholic schools," Leah explained. "One in the fall and one in the spring--"

"Which was a total crock of shit last time," Greenly interjected.

"The fair was?" Annie asked, confused.

"The game," Dolly corrected, "The fair has all the booths and games and things for the kids, and we all go down – Police, Fire, EMS – and set up static displays, let the kids touch the equipment, the usual bit--"

"The idea is to get the children comfortable with talking to authorities," Duffy added, "to meet the kids face to face and teach them to trust that they can turn to us if the need ever arises. You'd be surprised how many of them are intimidated by the uniforms."

"It's supposed to coincide with Fire Prevention week," Dolly continued, with a note of sarcasm in his voice. Annie could see the departmental rivalries were indeed alive and well in South Boston. "Anyway, for as long as I've been here--"

"Since the beginning of time," Greenly added seriously.

"They always set up this game for the kids," Dolly continued, not missing a beat, "Stump the Sergeant, they call it. There's one representative from each department that has to sit and answer questions, and the kid that can stump the player gets to ride Code Three in their vehicle."

"That's pretty cool!" Annie said. She would have loved to do that as a kid. "What kinds of questions do they ask?"

"Whatever they want," Leah said, moving slowly towards the hall. "Really. There's no telling what they'll come up with."

"So you'd better bring your A-game," Greenly said to Annie, eyes narrowed, but appearing more myopic than threatening.

"Me?" Annie asked, "I don't think I'll be the one playing."

Leah chuckled. "Oh, I forgot to mention. The newest newbie is the station gets to sit in the hot seat."

"Newbie?" Annie squeaked. Looking like an idiot in front of her new partner was one thing. Looking like an idiot in front of a crowd of merciless children and co-workers was quite another.

Before she could come up with a more intelligent response, Leah cleared her throat and glanced at her watch. "Listen, guys," she said, "I hate to break this up, but I am starving. I'd really like to grab a bite before we get another call."

"Oh, of course," Smecker said, looking genuinely sorry to have forgotten that the lunch hour had come and gone during their meeting. He offered Leah his hand, "Thanks again for coming in – you've got my card."

"I do," Leah said, "I won't forget – I mean, I won't forget to call…if I remember anything."

Annie thanked them again for lunch and said her goodbyes, then followed Leah back to the ambulance, trying to think of a way out of her predicament. Only one idea seemed plausible, and it was oddly comforting.

If she continued to screw things up the way she'd done all morning, she might very well be fired before her next shift.

o () o

"Think she's for real?" Greenly asked Smecker as soon as the women disappeared down the hall.

Smecker took his time removing a silver cigarette case from his suit jacket pocket. "What do you think?"

Duffy exchanged a look with Dolly. They knew this game all too well, and had learned long ago that playing along was the fastest route to getting real answers from the man.

"I think she is," Dolly said, reclining in his swivel chair, "Chaffey was first on scene, and he told us she barely said a word the whole time they were patching her up – said it was classic shock. I supposed she could have decided right then and there to keep silent, but I don't know…."

"She doesn't seem like the type to obstruct a federal investigation," Duffy said, crossing his arms and sitting on the edge of Dolly's desk. "Without a tangible, personal motivation, I don't think she would outright lie about what she witnessed."

Smecker took a long, thoughtful drag. "But she does have a personal motivation – about as tangible as it gets." He leaned against the frame of his office door. "These two men, whoever they were, saved her life, and that's not something she's likely to forget anytime soon."

"Yeah, but--" Greenly began, but Smecker cut him off.

"Would you?" Smecker asked Greenly objectively, effectively silencing any further comments. "You're right about her type," he said to Duffy, "She's an upstanding girl, got a real strong sense of right and wrong." Smecker smiled to himself. "That's why we're not going to have to press this one."

"What do you mean?" Greenly asked, curiously picking up the tin foil that Annie had molded into the shape of a flower and stuck in Dolly's pencil jar.

"If she's telling the truth," Smecker reasoned, "we'll get much clearer facts and details if we allow her memory to return on its own. I've no doubt she'll call when it happens."

"And if she's lying?" Dolly asked.

Smecker smiled again, a look of cold assurance in his eyes. "If she's lying, the ethical duplicity of her choice is going to be tearing her up inside, day by day. It'll only be a matter of time before she comes running to confess."

"Or until she has a nervous breakdown," Duffy reminded him dryly.

"She'll be at the station or in the hospital," Smecker said with a shrug, "Either way, we'll have her testimony at our disposal. It's only a matter of time."

o()o


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"So who's the lucky man?" Murphy asked Connor quietly, amid the din of keyboard tapping, the whir of a cappuccino machine, and the pretentious drone of intellectual conversation in the cybercafé. The scent of expensive coffee and pastries wafted thick and warm from the bar behind them.

Connor retrieved the hit list from his back pocket and leaned over Murphy's shoulder. "Stanley Waters."

Murphy entered the name into the search bar of the registered sex offender website, punching the keys with two fingers, machine-gun style. Connor knew he felt much more at home with the slow-processing, oversized computers of the public library, rather than these slick, futuristic varieties, but they had agreed that spreading their possibly incriminating research out over a range of locales was probably more prudent.

Ten seconds later, they were looking at an overweight white man with a large, egg-shaped face, a bad comb-over and large, thick glasses.

"Ugly motherfucker," Connor muttered. "Print it out – it's got an address, right?"

"Aye," Murphy said, "Not too far from here."

"Perfect, we'll go check it out after we talk to McGerkin."

"Mighty efficient this morning, aren't ye?"

"I'd be efficient all day if I didn't have your ass to drag around."

"Well, go make yourself useful then and wait there by the printer," Murphy said, nodding towards the public Laser Jet on a table in the center of the busy café. "We don't need any of these juiced-up computer junkies asking questions."

..o..

Several hours later, from his usual spot behind the steering wheel of the parked LTD, Connor scanned the grounds of a run-down housing project. A group of young black girls played double-dutch in the narrow, grassless expanse between buildings, while a trio of skateboarders hopped curbs in the parking lot. The D Street Projects were no one's idea of a perfect home, but these kids had no choice in the matter. The idea that a predator like Stanley Waters lived next door to them made Connor's stomach turn.

Beside him, Murphy pulled the folded print-out from his back pocket and opened it quietly.

"This is the right place, asshole," Connor grumbled, flicking the ash from his cigarette with unnecessary force. "For the last time, we're not fucking lost."

"I'm just checking," Murphy said calmly, swatting his hand away and turning towards the window and out of his reach. "You're not exactly like driving with one of those fuckin' GPS things."

"He's just not home. Maybe he's got a real job…maybe he works at the plant."

Murphy snorted. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?" He folded the papers and returned them to his pocket. "C'mon, let's get out of here. I'm fuckin' hungry."

Connor keyed the ignition, and took a last look at the girls laughing and jumping rope.

"Don't worry, Con," Murphy said, following his gaze, "Tomorrow, we'll find him and we'll put him away for good."

They headed back towards home, the afternoon sun shining brightly in their eyes as they turned onto Dorchester Street. Connor dropped Murphy off to shimmy through the cars crowded outside Chan's Express, and continued down the street to find parking. He found a spot a few blocks down in front of an abandoned storefront that sat between a comic book store and a corner market.

"Hey, mister – I mean Connor," a young voice called from behind him as he reached the sidewalk.

Danny and Omar scurried over to him from the comic book store. Both were dressed in their navy and white school uniforms, sleeves pushed up and ties loosened, Omar with a small notebook tucked in his back pocket and carrying a bag from the comic book store, Danny wearing his customary Red Sox backpack.

"Afternoon boys," Connor greeted them, mentally taking stock of the loose change in his pockets. "What's for sale today?"

"Nothing today," Danny said with a grin, falling into step beside Connor, Omar trailing a few steps behind. "Hey, we found you a place to get your new tattoos."

"Did you now? And where's that?"

"Right here!" Danny pointed to the abandoned shop to their left, which Connor now noticed had a small white sign taped inside the glass.

"I don't know, Danny Boy," Connor said doubtfully as he stepped closer to read it. "Me and Murph are pretty loyal to our guy…" The note was neatly handwritten in black Sharpie:

_Coming Soon: Lost and Found Tattoo_

"Does he live here in Southie?" Danny asked hopefully.

"Nah, he's over in Roxbury," Connor said, turning back from the sign to see Danny kick at a weed growing through a crack in the sidewalk. "You want us to let you know when we get them?" he offered.

"Oh, yeah, can you?" Danny bubbled, tripping over a shoelace in his excitement. "Can we come watch?"

"Ah, I don't know, maybe…" He spotted Murphy coming up the sidewalk towards them, already digging the white to-go cartons out of the bag. "Damn, that was fast – Jesus, how much did you order?"

Murphy grinned and handed him the overflowing bag, popping a bite of something brown and sticky into his mouth. "I was hungry."

"What's that?" Danny asked Murphy with a grimace.

"Sweet and Sour Pork. You want some?"

"Yuck, no thanks."

Murphy laughed, his mouth full. "C'mon, have you ever tried it?"

"No, but it looks gross."

"Danny Boy," Connor chided, "How do you know you won't like it if you've never tried it?"

Danny looked at Omar, who just shrugged noncommittally. "Oh, all right."

Murphy sat down on the bench in front of the corner market and handed each of them some chopsticks. "Here, it tastes better if you use these."

"Really?"

"Oh, definitely. Otherwise they'd all be using forks, right?"

After a few seconds of struggling, each boy had a piece of pork fairly secured in the grasp of their chopsticks, and they took their bites at Danny's count of three.

Connor and Murphy waited in amused silence until both boys smiled their approval and immediately reached for more. Connor took a seat on the opposite end of the bench and the two boys squeezed between them, dropping backpacks and bags on the ground in their haste.

"What've you got in your bag, there, Omar?"

Omar looked up at Murphy shyly and shrugged his small shoulders.

"Ah, so it's not the church that's the worthy cause you've been raising money for." Connor observed with a smirk.

"Most of it goes to the church," Danny said defensively, "but then there's some other stuff…"

Murphy chuckled. "Now we're gettin' somewhere I think."

Danny picked a long noodle out of a carton of Chow Mein and dangled it over his mouth. "Omar's just got the new Batman."

Omar looked at Danny like he was crazy and shook his head.

"Oh, sorry, I mean the Sentinel."

"Comic books?" Connor asked, opening the rest of the boxes and passing them around.

"Yeah, but not just to read," Danny added seriously. "It's so he can practice."

Omar's eyes widened, but Danny seemed oblivious to his friend's discomfort.

"He's a draw-er," Danny continued, "That's why he's always got that notebook."

Omar blushed furiously and squirmed in his seat.

Danny rolled his eyes. "He's really good, he just don't like to show people."

"That's all right, man," Murphy told the boy, "An artist's got to protect his work. You just keep practicing, and don't show anybody unless you want to."

Omar looked down at his chopsticks, but Connor thought he saw a small smile sneak onto the boy's face.

Murphy looked at Danny expectantly. "So? You gonna tell us what your half is for?"

It was Danny's turn to squirm. "Oh, just some stuff, you know…"

Omar giggled and Murphy's brows shot up. "What's that? Has Danny got some secret plans you want to fill us in on, Omar?"

Omar giggled again and Danny sighed, defeated. "It's for…there's this girl…"

"Ohhh," Connor said, leaning back against the bench and sharing a grin with his brother. "So it's a woman that's lit a fire under your arse. Say no more, kid, there's no man that can explain the stirrings of the heart."

Murphy scoffed into his carton of Sweet & Sour.

"You going to buy her flowers?" Connor asked, trying to remember what ten year old boys did to woo their women.

Omar giggled and Danny made a face. "She likes movies, I heard she goes all the time with her mom. I thought maybe she would go with me."

"A date then? And to the movies! Two hours in the dark together…she'll be love with ye before the end credits."

Danny flushed again. "I just want her to like me… not _love_ me."

Murphy stuffed the empty container back in the paper bag with a loud crumple. "Now that's a sharp plan, boy. Stick to that and you'll do all right."

Danny cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean? What would you do if you liked a girl?"

_This ought to be rich._ Connor watched his brother peruse the remaining selections with a frown.

"You don't want my advice, kid," Murphy said finally, taking the Chow Mein from Danny's lap and glancing up at Connor.

This only served to pique Danny's interest. "How come?"

Murphy just shrugged and Danny turned back to Connor.

"What about you? I bet you got lots of girlfriends."

"That's one way to put it," Murphy said under his breath.

Connor narrowed his eyes. "Oh, now you've an opinion, do ye? Maybe you ought to get back in the game before ye start chimin' in on how it's played."

Murphy wasn't the least bit fazed. "Name one girlfriend in the last year, no-the last _two_ years, that you've kept around more than a month."

"That's easy…" Connor racked his brain, dismissing one name after another. "There was…um…"

"Don't hurt yourself, now."

"Fuck you," Connor said with a wave of his hand, still concentrating. At last he raised his head with a triumphant smirk. "Jenny Tanner."

"Uh-uh. Three weeks – you met her after Thanksgiving and broke her heart before Christmas. Too bad, too, her sister was cute."

Connor had forgotten those particular details. But he was not about to let Murphy have this one.

"Oh! Teresa…um, I can't remember her last name. The red-head, remember? With that piercing on her…well, you remember."

Murphy shook his head, chuckling. "Two weeks. I remember because Doc was on vacation and never even met her – woman was there and gone before he even got back. Try again."

Connor snapped his fingers. "Kristi! That was nearly two months, and you can't tell me she wasn't a keeper."

"She left you for another woman, Connor. I'd hardly call it true love."

"True or not…it might've been love."

"At least until you converted her."

Connor ignored him and turned to Danny, who was listening to the exchange with utmost interest.

"Notice he's not offering any brilliant examples of his own, Danny? Don't trust a man that won't give you the whole story."

"Now just a minute there," Murphy broke in, packing another empty container into the bag. "He means well, Danny, but my brother's got no real idea what he's talkin' about. Strange women have been known to occupy his mind for no reason at all, even when there's a hell of a lot more important things to be thinkin' about."

"Ah, fuck you--"

"You're better off sticking that cash under your mattress, kid, for all the good a girl will do ye. Trust me, they're not worth your time or your money."

"Jesus Christ, Murph." Connor began to regret encouraging this outpouring of advice.

"Did you have a true love?" Danny asked Murphy seriously.

Murphy sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing his lips together for a long moment before speaking. "Love's like a rollercoaster ride after eatin' a loaded chili dog, kid – you think it's fun at the time, but you'll just end up hurtin' and sick and wishin' you'd never gotten on in the first place."

Connor rolled his eyes. "The ramblings of a romantic atheist, Danny, don't mind him. He's just had some bad luck in the past."

"Bad luck? Should we compare notes then?"

"Gettin' lucky's not the same thing, Murph, or do I need to call Ma to remind ye?"

"What's a romantic athitist?" Danny asked.

"Atheist. It means he's a non-believer," Connor explained, digging through the bag for fortune cookies and tossing one to each of the boys.

"You don't believe in love?" Danny asked, as if Murphy had said he didn't believe in gravity. "How come?"

Murphy studied the boy for a moment, then looked out across the street. "It's a long story, kid."

Just when Connor thought he'd tuned them out, Murphy turned back and looked at Danny seriously. "What I'm telling ye is no bullshit, kid." He dug a cigarette out and lit it, speaking through one side of his mouth. "Now, I know you think this girl's quite special – she's pretty, is she?"

"Yeah…" Danny's eyes got a little hazy and Connor could tell Murphy's words would be lost on him.

"Probably smart, too?"

"Yeah, she gets better grades than me."

"And sweet? She a nice girl?"

"Real nice, even to the kids nobody else likes."

"Jesus, Murph," Connor interrupted, "She sounds like one in a million – you really gonna tell him not to waste his time?"

"It's not to do with the girl, Danny. Even a girl – _especially_ a girl that's one in a million can still do a number on ye. Better to just stay friends."

"Like you did?" The words slipped out harsher than Connor intended, but Murphy's rantings smacked of hypocrisy.

Murphy stared back at him a moment before answering. "I'm trying to help him learn from my own mistakes," he said quietly, exhaling the smoke in a quick stream, "Not repeat them."

Connor didn't think he'd ever heard Murphy refer to the relationship in question as a 'mistake' before, and wasn't sure he liked the sound of it.

By now, the cartons had all been emptied and the boys began picking up stray bottle caps and cigarette butts with their chopsticks. Murphy dropped the bag of trash in a nearby garbage can and Connor lit a cigarette of his own.

Danny stood still and watched him.

"What?" Connor asked, fighting the instinct to turn and look behind him.

"Can I have one of those?" Danny asked, taking a step forward and leaving a surprised Omar in his wake.

Connor laughed despite himself. "Are you kidding?"

Danny stood his ground. "No."

Murphy came to stand next to Connor as Omar joined Danny, and there was a brief standoff between the two pairs of men.

"You wouldn't like it," Murphy said, taking a long drag. "It tastes like shit."

Danny crossed his arms. "How will I know if I'll like it if I've never tried it?"

_Touché_. Connor considered the boy for a moment, then shook his head. "Forget it, kid, I don't fancy your ma killing me in my sleep."

"Fine," Danny said at last, pulling on his backpack stiffly.

Connor watched Omar pick up his own bag and stand awkwardly, looking back and forth between his friends. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy's feelings, but what the hell else was he supposed to do?

"Listen, you guys want a ride home?" he asked, pulling out his keys and heading towards the car.

Danny smiled ruefully and Omar nodded.

Murphy opened the rear door and brushed the numerous Styrofoam cups off the back seat and onto the floor. "So what fortunes did you get?" he asked the boys as they slid across the dark blue vinyl.

Omar handed Murphy his tiny slip of paper as Connor pulled out.

"'A closed mouth gathers no feet,'_"_ Murphy read. "Well, there you go, Omar!"

"Mine says, 'Your greatest wish will be granted tomorrow!" Danny gushed. "Do you think that means I'll get to ride the fire truck, Omar?"

Connor glanced at Danny in the rearview mirror when he stopped at a light. "Wait, what about this girl of yours?"

"Well, I don't think that she's going to start liking me _tomorrow_. But I really want to ride the fire truck at our school fair, and all I have to do is ask the fireman a question that he can't answer!"

"And I bet you've got a whole list of questions already."

"Yep, right here in by backpack, so I don't forget them," Danny announced. "Hey, you guys can come and see me in the fire truck if you want. Lots of other kids' families are going to be there…"

"Sorry man, I don't think we can tomorrow," Murphy said with a glance at Connor. "Aren't your parents coming?"

"Nah, my mom has to work," Danny said, the disappointment clear in his voice. Connor didn't miss the omission of a father's plans, but knew from his own experience not to press the subject.

Danny's descriptions of the next day's carnival festivities lasted all the way home, and on up the stairs even after Omar veered off down the first floor hallway.

"Are you sure you can't come?" Danny asked again as he fished a key out of his pocket and let himself inside. "It's gonna be really fun."

Connor met Murphy's eyes and saw that his brother was having as hard a time as he was telling Danny no. "We'll see, all right? No promises."

o()o

_**Author's Note:**_** Not to spoil the surprise…but for those who are waiting anxiously, I do promise a _meeting_ in the next chapter! In the meantime, there's a little button over there to the left – why don't you click it and drop me a little review? Thanks!**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note**_**: So this chapter turned out to be a lot longer than expected. But, rather than keep you waiting…Please stay tuned for the almost-completed second half, which will in fact be Chapter 10.**

**-Chapter 9-**

Murphy stood over the stainless steel wash basin and tried to scrub the blood from the creases in his knuckles. No matter how careful he was to always wear gloves, somehow he always managed these close encounters with bodily fluids that were not his own.

"Jesus Christ, aren't you done yet?" Connor shouted to him over the roar of the industrial faucet.

"Almost, _Ma_," Murphy said, shutting the water off and grabbing a cleanish towel, "At least one of us isn't going to die of mad cow disease."

Connor surveyed the trace smears of blood still decorating the backs of his hands and forearms after a much less thorough cleansing. He'd shower at home. "I think I'm immune by now."

Murphy lobbed the ruined towel expertly onto the laundry heap in the corner and followed Connor out of the employee wash room.

"Stay out of trouble this weekend, would you?" McGerkin called to them as they passed the open door of his small, cluttered office. "I want you here on time come Monday morning."

"Trouble?" Murphy asked innocently as he took the cigarette Connor held out to him. "Us?"

They pushed through the side door and out into the early afternoon sunlight. Although he felt a warm glow of satisfaction after a day of manual labor, no traditional occupation would ever give him the soul-cleansing fulfillment of his holy calling. If all went well, tonight he and Connor would be congratulating each other on a job well done, an entire case of Guinness waiting in the fridge for them at home.

When they reached the car, Connor left the keys dangling from the lock as he took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it away. "You know, I've been thinking--"

"Jesus, not again."

Connor ignored him and continued, "We haven't been able to spot this guy after a week of staking him out. Not in the morning, not at lunch, not after work, not in the fucking middle of the night."

"So? A prick like Waters might not even have a job," Murphy said, not about to let his brother talk them out of the hit he'd been looking forward to all week. "He probably lives up there with his fucking mother, for Christ sakes."

Connor unlocked the doors and they got inside. "Maybe he doesn't even live there at all."

"What are you on about?" Murphy demanded, irritated. "It listed this address right under his fucking mugshot."

"It listed this as his _last known_ address," Connor reminded him, "He could be anywhere by now."

Murphy squeezed his temples and leaned back in the seat. He hated it when his brother made sense. "So what's the point of even using the goddamned website? All the addresses are going to be out of date."

"Not all of them," Connor said, starting the engine, "But some, definitely."

"But we'll never know which ones, will we?" Murphy realized, and Connor nodded sourly in agreement.

"Jesus, this was so much easier when we were just taking out the fucking mob," Murphy muttered, "When we knew where they lived, where they hung out, who they did business with..."

"When we had Rocco." Connor finished the thought for him.

"Aye," Murphy said, letting his arm drop with a defeated thump onto the armrest. "When we had Rocco."

"Almost makes it seem like blind fucking luck that we got Polinsky."

"Aye," Murphy agreed halfheartedly, "Almost." They both knew luck had nothing to do to with it; Murphy knew there was a purpose behind their run-in with Polinsky, he just wished he could see what it was. "What do you think all that cash was for, anyway?"

"Just a down payment on whatever the fuck he was buying. Remember, he said we'd get the rest when we delivered?"

"Yeah, but when we delivered what?" Murphy eyed the characters loitering on a corner as they drove past. "Could've been drugs I guess."

"Maybe. What I want to know is who the hell was he really waiting for?"

Murphy sighed. They'd probably never find out. One scumbag doing business with more scumbags. He dug the print-out of Waters' profile from its home in his back pocket. It was all there – physical description, known aliases, past convictions. And one useless, out of date address that made all the other details completely irrelevant.

Crumpling the page in his fist, he tossed it over his shoulder, where it bounced onto the back seat.

He felt blind, lost. Without Rocco, and without Da, they needed some semblance of a plan. They needed guidance.

They needed a sign.

The light was red at Broadway, and Murphy leaned forward on the dash, looking past the pedestrians in the crosswalk and up into the bright blue autumn sky. "You there?" he asked, "We're here. …we're listening."

A horn blared behind them, and Murphy turned to see a mother in a mini-van gesturing rudely at the green light, but before he could give her a proper retort, he saw the very sign he'd been looking for shoved halfway under the driver's seat.

_Ask and ye shall receive. _

Stretching behind him, he tugged Danny's red back pack free and tossed it onto Connor's lap.

Connor grinned. "Seek and ye shall find, eh? To church then?"

"To church." They'd deliver the lost bag and seek their answers in the only place that had never led them astray.

- - - - o()o- - - - -

Leah braced herself against the door as Annie swung the ambulance at a wide angle across three parking spaces in the side lot of the St. Augustine Parish.

Granted, the creative maneuver was at the direction of a very enthusiastic young nun, waving her arms dramatically in airport ground-crew style, but Leah was unable to suppress the sigh of relief when they finally came to a halt. Listening to Annie radio Dispatch to confirm their out-of-commission status for the next few hours, she closed her eyes briefly and tried to summon the energy she knew she'd need to make this appearance at the school worthwhile.

They were great kids, she reminded herself as she slid out of the rig. And besides the boost to her ego from spending an afternoon looked up to as a 'hero', it was always fun to see colleagues and friends outside of the gruesome scenes that were the usual reason for their gatherings. More than anything, these next few hours would give her a much needed break from looking over Annie's shoulder to ensure the survival of her unfortunate patients.

Leaving Annie to listen to the bubbly chatter from the traffic directing nun, Leah snuck away to check out the rest of the fair's participants. The booths were set up along either side of the parish's L-shaped parking lot, with their ambulance at the far end of the lot running the length of the sanctuary.

The sisters had gone all-out for the event, with an array of carnival games from a ring toss to a water-gun shoot, to what looked suspiciously like a dunk tank. There was even a bouncy-house being inflated, with a thickly-built sister setting up a rack of cubbies for kids to put their shoes in.

Leah noticed, with a stab of annoyance, that the boys from the fire department had arrived early enough to set up their ladder truck right smack in the bend of the "L", effectively making their display even more the center of attention than it usually was. Her friends from the precinct, never to be outdone, had parked two vehicles next to the fire truck, one a K-9 unit, and the other a rather impressive S.W.A.T. vehicle.

Returning shouts of greeting from the uniformed men as she walked back to the rig, Leah wished futilely that they could have brought the big box-unit ambulance instead of the dated high-topped van.

"This is going to be great!" Annie called to her, throwing open the rear doors with a flourish and hopping cheerfully inside. Leah couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever had as much energy. No matter, Annie had enough for the both of them.

"Let's get the gurney out, and the backboard, the med bags…" Leah directed from the doorway as Annie rifled through the supplies. "Pretty much all the big stuff that the kids can touch without breaking. Remember, we're up against turnout gear and German Shepherds, and that big red truck tends to overshadow pretty much everything else."

"Even this tricked-out Ford Superduty?"

Leah laughed. "Believe it or not, when an eight year old has to decide between a roll of fire hose or a roll of sterile gauze…"

"I see your point," Annie said, standing up with a hand on her hip as she studied their available options, her height making it unnecessary to duck her head the way Leah had to. "Hey, would you mind if I took a little walk to check out the competition?"

"Please, be my guest. We've still got a while before they let the kids out of class."

Annie wandered off and Leah leaned against the bumper with a sigh. She was beginning wonder if she should have taken more time off after all. After her 'incident', as they were calling it, she'd suffered through nearly two weeks with no more than a few hours of sleep each night. Staying busy was the only way she could keep the images at bay, but that remedy had developed into a nightly cycle of insomnia. Her apartment had never looked so clean.

She had told the FBI agent who interviewed her that the last thing she remembered was walking her patient out to the rig, and then later seeing blood everywhere when the officers arrived on scene.

The agent had seemed a little suspicious, but she'd stuck to her story and regulated her composure well enough that the man had seemed reluctant to press her too hard for the missing pieces.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything else," he'd said, with a pat on the shoulder that, to her surprise, actually felt more encouraging than condescending.

The truth was she had thought of little else in the last thirteen days. If not for the distraction of her trainee, she was pretty sure the entire scene would be replaying in her head twenty-four hours a day, down to every last heart-pounding detail.

What would it be like to not remember? She could recall a handful of patients who had survived traumatic events with only a blank spot in the movie of their memories. Rather than the relief Leah imagined the void would bring, it always seemed to disturb the victims, as if nothing else would seem quite right in their lives until they could fill in the holes.

Leah was beginning to find that what had actually occurred was less disturbing to her than her calloused reaction to it. A man had been violently murdered, his head blown off not six inches from her own. Blood and brains had splattered in a wet blast that touched nearly every surface of her rig. And what had been her first coherent thought as she observed the soft chunks of gray matter sliding down the once-sterile metal surfaces?

_Damn, going to have to clean the gurney after all._

What the hell was wrong with her? The fear had been very real, there was no question about that. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life. Usually, she was proud of her ability to take charge of any situation and guide it through to a controlled, positive end. She had worked hard to develop that particular talent, making mistakes and learning from each one, until the majority of them could now be avoided on instinct alone.

And in that filthy, dank motel room, instinct had told her that the ragged-faced man complaining of chest pain was lying through his gapped teeth.

Instinct had told her that his portly friend with the nervous twitch and shifty eyes cared less about him than he did about getting a free ride to the shelter of the hospital.

And instinct had told her that when Steve, her lazy excuse for a partner, insisted he had to take a piss, she should have just waited for him outside of the lobby bathroom, even if it meant five more minutes tolerating the stench of her patient's breath. But instead, she had rolled her eyes and made some smart-ass remark, leading her questionable charges out the lobby door and into the dark, rainy night.

Even as she led the way across the parking lot under the eerie orange glow of a buzzing streetlight, instinct had told her to stop and wait, to not enter the shadows alone with these shady, unknown men.

But she had chosen to ignore her instincts that night, and had almost paid for it with her life. In one horrible instant, she'd been immobilized. The hard, cold tip of a gun pressed into her temple stripped away any illusions of control, and she suddenly knew what it was to be a victim.

Even now, the memory of her foolish dive for freedom, and then her idiotic tossing of the narcotics box made her stomach flip when she imagined what could have happened. As it was, she could still feel the vicious crack of that gun's handle just above her hairline. When the hot blood slid down her forehead and burned into her eye, she'd known, with a terrible clarity, that no one was coming to help her.

Heart slamming in her chest, she had prayed to God for mercy, to forgive her recklessness and somehow deliver her from her wretched situation.

And then the most unexpected thing had happened - another man had stepped out of the shadows.

"Let her go," he'd commanded, accent ringing clear and cool from behind a black ski mask as he'd cocked a pistol and aimed it at her attacker's face.

The unknown man had doubled her fear for a moment with his intensity. But then, a car had driven by. Not seeing or not caring about the deadly stand-off barely ten feet from the road, the driver's one contribution was to cast the beam of his headlights directly on the newcomer. In those three long seconds of illumination, her eyes had locked with his, and a thousand unspoken pleas and assurances passed between them.

Then the light had faded, and the grip on her neck had tightened painfully. Strings of curses and threats had echoed off the brick and concrete, two more men joining the stand-off, one of them emerging from the shadows of the alley and pacing steadily towards them, masked and dressed in black like his counterpart.

Her attacker was growing more panicked by the second, and he'd jabbed his pistol against her skull so hard she'd been sure the bullet wouldn't be far behind. She remembered being confused when one of the men started speaking in another language, but by that time, no words were going to save her, only actions. Gritting her teeth, she'd gathered her strength and made one last, violent lurch away from her attacker, praying it was enough to give her rescuer a clear shot.

A sharp spurt from his silencer had sparked an eruption of return fire, sudden and deafening. She'd seen her savior flinch and grab his side just before the weight of her attacker's body dragged her down onto the floor of the rig.

She'd scrambled away from the mutilated corpse, backing herself against the metal frame of the gurney, oblivious to the puddle of blood seeping into her work pants as she tucked into a ball.

Sometime during the shouting and gunfire, a voice had spoken to her. It had sounded so out of place amidst the chaos that even now, Leah wondered if it hadn't just been her imagination. But in the back of the ambulance, she had clung to the comfort it provided like a frightened child.

"Ye'll be all right."

When the gunfire ceased she'd opened her eyes cautiously and surveyed the damage, taking in her attacker's lifeless form, the bloody pulp and gray matter right along side the shattered glass and splintered cabinets.

_Useless, useless, salvageable,_ her numbed mind had observed, taking stock of the damaged equipment and giving bizarre but concrete direction to the adrenaline pulsing through her veins._ Useless, busted to hell, bloody but still intact, useless…._

Wiping blood-smeared hands on equally bloody pants, she'd stepped down out of the rig and slowly rounded the open back door to find that the sudden silence was not one of finality, but of foreboding.

The two masked men stood with their backs to her, black coats blending into the shadow of the ambulance cast by the streetlight. They'd held the second drug seeker on the ground against the back wheel, twin firearms pressed against his forehead. The criminal's body had been mostly hidden in shadow, but one leg jutted into the light and she'd seen a dark, glistening red stain spreading across his thigh.

Why, _why_ had she stopped to care about that bastard's injuries? Why hadn't she been running like hell, calling the police, screaming her head off?

Instead, ever the intervener, she had opened her big fat mouth.

The two men were speaking in unison, a poem or a prayer of some sort, when she'd interrupted.

"Wait." The word had slipped out unbidden, and was followed by others that Leah still couldn't believe she'd had the gall to utter. "He doesn't need to die."

One of the masked men had stoically held his executioner's stance, but the one closest to her twisted slowly to face her. The mask and shadows covered any expression, but the incline of his head and the tension in his shoulders told her she'd better explain fast or get the hell out of the way.

Silenced by the intensity in his eyes, she'd made no further explanation, and he'd turned back and resumed his position, mirroring the man to his right. She'd held her breath for an endless moment. When the howl of sirens had drawn closer, the far man had shifted, casting the briefest look at his partner as he adjusted his hold on the trigger. At last, the first man had withdrawn his weapon, his forceful sigh audible even from where Leah stood.

With a last glance at her, the two men had turned and walked swiftly down the alley, retreating into the dark until she could no longer find the outline of their bodies in the shadows. Their hurried footsteps were drowned in the cry of the sirens as flashing lights swung across the walls of the buildings, and her saviors were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

She'd torn her eyes from the blackness of the alley as the first officer approached, swearing to herself, to God, and to the souls of the men that saved her that she would do everything in her power to keep them from harm's way. What that would come to mean, she didn't yet know. Whoever they were, whatever terrible things they had done, they had chosen to act when they could have walked away, and for that she was bound to them in debt.

And so when it came time for the investigators to probe her for a description, she'd lied through her teeth, coming up with the simplest of stories, the easiest to stick to.

"I can't remember."

If only it were true.

It had never occurred to her that one lie would lead to so many more. Detectives, reporters, friends, coworkers, even her own mother – Once her name had been published, people were all over her, intrigued by her experience and the dramatic twist that memory loss seemed to add.

Now, as Annie came jogging over with a swirl of cotton candy, Leah realized the carnival was about to start and they hadn't even set up yet.

"Well, the good news is we've got this whole wing of the property to ourselves," Annie reported. "Want a bite?"

"Thanks, I'll pass. What's the bad news?"

"No bad news," Annie said, winding the last of the pink fluff off the stick and chewing it thoughtfully. "We just have to find our unique selling point."

Leah tugged the gurney out and guided it down onto the asphalt. "Let me guess, your last job was in advertising?"

"Something like that." Stepping inside, she walked to the far end and began taking bags off the rubber-lined shelves. "Graphic design."

"Really?" Leah realized she hadn't given Annie's work history a second thought. To be honest, she hadn't given anything about the girl a second thought. "So how'd you end up a medic, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It was time for a change," Annie answered after a pause. "Actually, it was originally because the hours were so much better, and I could help watch the kids more--"

"You have kids?"

"No, no not mine. My sister's. I was living with her for a while after her husband was ki—after her husband passed away."

"Oh, that's terrible," Leah breathed, seeing her new partner in a different light. "How many children?"

"Three girls – a princess, a tomboy and an angel." She smiled proudly. "They're a handful, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss them. They would love to come to something like this."

"Hey…" Leah whispered, the realization of their good fortune suddenly upon her, "This is perfect -you'll be our secret weapon!"

"Uh, what?"

"You've been living with little kids for how long?"

"Couple of years." 

Leah waved a hand excitedly through the air and began to pace. "Greenly played for the cops last spring too, but he went down in flames, so there's nothing to be worried about there, and _Johnson's_ playing for Fire…"

"Do I know Johnson?"

Leah gave her partner's trim figure, tanned skin and sun-streaked hair a once-over. "The tall one, with the great arms - just let him see you one time in regular clothes, and believe me, you'll be introduced."

Annie gave her a wary look. "I'm not really looking to date right now…"

"That's not so much a problem for him. Let's just say he's very proud of his last name."

"Oh, _really_? You're not…speaking from experience, are you?" 

Was she that transparent? "As a rule, I'd say try to avoid dating people from work…" Leah felt the need to set a better example for Annie, but realized as she felt the heat in her cheeks that it was too late for denial. "But, if you're going to break the rule, it might as well be with Mr. October, right?"

Annie's smile was growing wider by the second and Leah cleared her throat. "Anyway, neither of them has kids – at least, not that we know of – so you're already way ahead of the curve."

"What's the big deal with this game, anyway?" Annie asked, handing Leah a bright blue med bag. "I mean, if you lose, you're the one that gets to take the winner for a ride, right? Doesn't seem so bad."

Leah dropped the bag on the ground with a thump. "Jesus, did I not tell you? This is not like the blood-alcohol level pool in the E.R. – there's more than just bragging rights at stake here. If you lose, anytime you see _any_ cop or firefighter in the next month, you have to buy them coffee."

Annie's eyes narrowed, but Leah could see she wasn't getting it.

"For a _month_, Annie. They'll stake you out. That's what they do when they're bored. They'll all gather, and they'll wait for you, like a dozen of them, clustering outside Dunkie's like a gang of loitering teenagers. Greenly lost last time, and he burned through a hundred bucks a day on more than one occasion."

Annie's golden skin was growing a bit pallid. "I'm not exactly rolling in the dough right now…"

"Hey, no pressure!" Leah said, giving Annie's leg an encouraging pat. "Just don't lose."

They spent the next half hour arranging and rearranging every piece of equipment that a child might find the slightest bit interesting, but as the parking lot began to fill with swarms of happy students, Leah saw that they were in worse shape than she'd thought.

"I don't get it," Annie said as they watched another young face glance their way briefly, then hurry away to join the crowd at the ladder truck. "What do they have that we don't?"

"Besides testosterone?"

Before Annie could comment, a hefty-looking nun walked up with a sniffling little black girl who sported a fresh red scrape on her knee. "This is Tabitha. She fell getting out of the bouncy-house," the nun explained. "I thought you ladies might have a band-aid?"

"You came to the right place," Annie said with a smile, "Let me just see…"

"There ought to be some in that side pocket there," Leah said, lifting the girl up onto the gurney while Annie searched. "Ooh, that's a nasty scrape, Tabitha. Does it hurt?"

Tabitha sniffed and nodded, a heart-breaking pout on her tiny lips. Leah cleaned the spot carefully.

"We're nearly out of the fun ones," Annie announced, "but we do have two Spiderman and one Dora the Explorer."

Tabitha chose the Dora bandage and managed to thank them as the nun led her away. Not two minutes later, a freckled boy ran up. "Can I have a band-aid?" 

"Are you hurt?"

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head, looking sheepish. "Nah…I just thought you were giving them away. I heard you had Spiderman."

Leah could have sworn she saw an actual light bulb appear over Annie's head. "Sure, here you go! We're going to need some more of these, I think."

"You know, we've got a lot more here than just band-aids," Leah said, seeing a spark of interest in his eyes at the sight of the oxygen tank. She turned to Annie. "There's a drugstore three blocks that way, if you hurry--"

"I'm on it!" Annie glanced at her watch, already breaking into a run. "I'll be right back – don't let them start without me!"

Half an hour later, Annie still hadn't returned, but Leah had found an even better solution to their problem. With the last Spiderman band-aid stuck proudly on a scrawny bicep, it occurred to her that she could do a hell of a lot better than store-bought band-aids. They'd have to do some re-stocking when they got back to the station, but no more than if they'd actually been working that afternoon.

Soon, her corner of the fair began to look like the scene of a mass casualty incident. Children ran about with gauze-wrapped arms and faces, returning minutes later with scores of friends, each child wanting a more impressive injury than the last. When Officer Chaffee sauntered over, Leah told him sweetly that he'd have to wait in line like everyone else.

"Maybe later," he said, smiling at her. "Right now, they need your partner up on that stool."

Alarmed, Leah saw that Greenly and Johnson were already perched on two of the three stools, the nuns trying to herd the sugared-up students together and get them to sit down in front of the make-shift stage.

"She should be back by now," she said, scanning the street hopefully, but seeing no one other than a man walking his dog. "She just had to run to the store…"

"Father Riley's about to start – guess it'll have to be you."

"What?"

Chaffee grinned. "Come on, you'll be fine," he said, taking the roll of gauze from her hand and setting it down behind her. "And if not, maybe you'll finally sit and have that coffee with me."

Leah stole a last glance at the street as Chaffee led her away, but to no avail. She was on her own.

**o()o**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Annie scanned the overhead aisle signs and made a bee-line for the first-aid section. Two gray haired patrons, a pregnant woman, and a green-vested stock boy on a ladder all looked up as she flew by, but she paid them no attention, determined not to let anything delay her mission.

Finding the shelf with the more kid-friendly wares, she was disappointed to see that the stock boy had fallen behind in his work; the only box left featured that loathed purple dinosaur that even her four-year-old niece was too cool for.

Grabbing the box, she retraced her steps to hail the stock boy, resisting the urge to tell him he shouldn't be standing on the top rung. "Got anything better than Barney in the back?"

The startled teenager wobbled dangerously, and Annie held her breath until he regained a precarious balance.

"Got a bleeder, doc?"

"Sure do," she said, flashing him her best smile, "You might say it's an emergency."

"I can check the back, but your best bet is probably up on the top shelf," he said, craning his neck to peer into the next aisle. "Actually, I think I can see it from here."

"No, don't, I'll just--"

But it was too late. He rose onto tiptoe and sent the ladder flying out from under him with a deafening crash. All Annie heard, however, was the crack of his head against the tile floor. Thankfully, his right side had taken the brunt of the fall, but it was still several seconds before he opened his eyes.

Annie kneeled beside him, checking him over thoroughly while taking care to keep his neck and spine aligned and immobile. Meanwhile, every other soul in the store gathered around them.

"Oh, thank God you were here!" she heard more than one person exclaim, realizing with some alarm that they were talking to her.

"Derek!" said a middle-aged man who pushed through the on-lookers and came to kneel on the boy's other side. "What happened?" He was dressed in the same green vest and sported a shiny gold 'manager' name tag.

"I don't know," Derek said blearily, his eyes growing wide as he took in the sea of faces above him. He raised a hand to his head, and then made to sit up. "You know, I think I'm fine, really."

Annie pressed his shoulders gently but firmly back against the floor. "Let's let the professionals make that call, all right?"

"But aren't you a professional?" the manager asked.

"Well, yes, but--" Feeling like an idiot, she retrieved the radio hooked to her belt and tried to call Leah, and then Dispatch, but thanks to the thick brick and concrete that housed the ancient store, all she got was static.

Clearing her throat and trying to salvage what was left of her dignity, she looked up at the crowd.

"Could someone call 9-1-1?"

---o()o---

_St. Augustine's Annual Autumn Fair_

_Admission – Free for Children, $5 for Adults._

_Donations gladly accepted._

A rosy-cheeked nun sat fanning herself at a folding table beneath the sign, and gave Murphy and Connor a sweet smile as they approached.

Murphy handed her a twenty, and then waited until she began to count out his change before he stuffed a few hundreds into the donation box.

"Your change?" she called as he jogged to catch up with his brother.

"Keep it!"

"Thank you - God bless you!"

"Hope we're not too late," Connor said, walking hurriedly through the colorful, but empty booths.

There were hay bales stacked here and there throughout, and pumpkins of all sizes, balloons and hand-made signs and games set up - but no children.

A few steps further, and the reason became clear. More than a hundred kids sat in a wide semi-circle on the ground, facing a low wooden stage where two uniformed men and a woman sat on stools. The new priest, Father Riley, appeared to be emceeing the activity, his stout, robed figure bouncing energetically through the audience and choosing children to stand and ask questions. A folding table was set up on one side of the stage, and Murphy recognized the Monsignor, the Mother Superior and Detective Duffy seated behind it. They appeared to be acting as judges.

"Jesus Christ," Murphy said, slowing as he saw the swarm of policemen hovering on and around their two vehicles. "The whole goddamn precinct is here."

Connor didn't comment, and Murphy realized his attention was on the stage. Murphy recognized the first man as their old co-conspirator Detective Greenly. The second was a beefy firefighter he'd never seen before. The woman was very familiar indeed, especially after having been a popular topic of discussion around the MacManus table recently.

Murphy gave Connor's ear a flick.

"Ow, what?"

"I thought we were trying to stay below radar, here?" Murphy reminded him, moving toward the group of parents standing behind the audience of kids.

"They haven't seen us," Connor said, rubbing his reddening ear, "they're all too busy heckling their detective friend."

Finding a spot next to a young mother holding a pre-school aged little girl, Murphy crossed his arms and tried to think of a way to deliver Danny's bag to where Connor had spotted him in the front row without arousing undue attention.

"Which one's yours?" The woman asked.

"Mine? Oh, I don't have any kids," Murphy answered, and it occurred to him a moment too late that a childless bachelor might seem out of place at such an event.

"Oh," she said, and Murphy could feel her growing suspicion as she looked him over. With a cordial nod, she backed slowly away and found another place to stand on the far side of the group.

"Real smooth," Connor said, "she'll probably look you up on that website when she gets home."

"Well, what would you have--"

"Thank you, Omar, dear, go on and join the group now," Sister Margaret's voice came from behind them, and both men turned to see her urging the boy ahead of her while dabbing at her face and neck with a small towel. Omar's white uniform shirt was soaking through, and he had several wet splotches on his navy pants, but there was nothing but delight on his face when he saw Connor and Murphy.

"Had a run-in with the dunk tank," Sister Margaret explained, "It was a bit over full, and Sister Ruth…well she makes quite a splash. Omar was kind enough to run to the kitchen for a towel."

"Good man to have around," Connor said, squatting down in front of a now beaming Omar and pulling Danny's bag from his shoulder. "I wonder if you'll be kind enough to do us a favor, as well?"

As Omar squeezed and dodged his way through the crowd with the recovered bag, a vision of the generously proportioned Sister Ruth in a saturated habit flashed involuntarily into Murphy's mind.

"So, do nuns wear bathing suits then?" he asked thoughtfully.

Sister Margaret eyed him warily from beneath a flap of towel. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm not being fresh, woman!"

"To ensure the success of an important event such as this, we are each of us prepared to go beyond our normal conventions."

"Aye," Connor said, giving Murphy his familiar 'you're going to hell' look, "I can see how much the kids are enjoying themselves."

"Oh, the children's enjoyment, yes, that is the primary purpose, of course. But the money we raise today will also make a difference in keeping the school's doors open."

"Is it that bad then?" Murphy asked with some surprise. He couldn't remember a time when the parish hadn't been soliciting its members for money; tithes were simply another part of the ritual.

Sister Margaret folded the towel carefully, and lowered her voice. "The shameful scandals that the Church had suffered these last few years have taken their toll on everyone, even though the majority of the Boston parishes had no direct connection."

Murphy met Connor's eyes over the nun's bowed head and saw the reflection of his own bitter understanding. The revelations of abuse in the Catholic Church had come as a sickening, infuriating shock to believer and non-believer alike, but had been particularly painful for Murphy and Connor to accept, having spent a brief time as alter boys themselves in their youth. It had been many long months before Murphy was able to observe the alter boys at St. Augustine without fearing for their safety, praying for the Lord to protect them from such a nightmare.

"Pay-outs to the victims of the abuse have impacted the funding of all the city's parishes," she continued, "but especially in the poorer communities, where the tithes and donations coming in aren't nearly enough to staunch the flow going out."

"A blood-letting," Connor said under his breath.

"Indeed, very much like it. Already, two parishes have filed for bankruptcy, and if it gets to that point here…" she paused and took a shaky breath, watching the children in front of them with a look that could only be described as maternal. "Well, it won't get to that point here. Father Riley and the Mother Superior will see to that."

Murphy started to ask how they planned to turn things around, but waited when he saw Omar reach Danny in the front row and deliver the bag. Rather than the discrete nod of thanks Murphy was hoping for, however, the boy spun around, leapt to his feet, grinning and waving frantically at them until at least half of the fair's participants, including the previously distracted policemen, turned to see what was so exciting.

Connor half raised a hand and Murphy smiled tightly at Danny until the boy sat back down and immediately began to dig through the bag, still turning around occasionally as if to make sure he hadn't imagined their presence. The stares from the uniformed officers were more subtle, but no less interested. More than one whispered conversation was visible from where Murphy stood, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the news of their return reached those few who would understand the full meaning.

"That was very kind of you," Sister Margaret said, as Danny was called upon by the animated priest and stood to submit his next question, a white note card clutched in his fist.

"Aye, we knew he--"

An overwhelming roar drowned out Connor's words as the crowd before them erupted into cheers and chaos. The blonde paramedic covered her face with both hands, bowing her head for a moment in defeat, then smiling good-naturedly as Detective Greenly and the beefy firefighter rose to their feet and clapped her on the back. Danny and Omar were barely visible now that the audience had become a swarming mob, but Murphy could see them, literally bouncing up and down and throwing fists up in victory.

"Jesus Christ, he did it!" Murphy exclaimed.

"I'm sure our Lord is already aware," Sister Margaret said dryly.

Murphy tried to look contrite, but knew he wasn't quite managing it. "Sorry, Sister, but I'm proud of the kid, you know?"

"And he deserves it. He's not had an easy time, nor has little Omar," she said, steadying a chair as a little girl ran by and nearly tripped on it. "If you two will help me carry some of these extra chairs inside, I'll show you something they've been working on."

Murphy took the chair from her and folded it quickly. "Just point the way."

When Connor didn't move, he looked up to see that his brother was focused on Danny's triumphant march down to the ambulance, or, more accurately, on the blonde woman smiling and talking with him as she led the way.

Placing a hand on Connor's shoulder, he leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Not too shabby without all that blood on her face, is she now?"

Connor turned, startled out of his daze, but Murphy just chuckled and grabbed another chair. "I'll catch up with you in a few," he said quietly, "Just don't invite her back to the bat cave, all right?"

---o()o---

Ten minutes had passed since Connor and Omar had watched Danny depart on his victory ride, with promised lights flashing and sirens blaring. As he let Omar drag him from booth to colorful booth, his intention of a saying a harmless hello to the woman he'd saved began to seem like less and less of a good idea. The chances were slim, but what if she recognized him? He was about to make his excuses to Omar and leave to rescue Sister Margaret from Murphy, when the ambulance pulled back into the parking lot and stopped right in front of them.

"Connor!" Danny called, leaping down and running over to them. "Did you see? Did you see us with the lights on? I got to turn on the siren myself!"

"Aye, I think the whole damn neighborhood saw you," Connor said, "Save any lives, then, while you were out?"

Danny giggled and began to describe the trip in detail as Leah Solomon rounded the back of the vehicle. She gave Connor a polite smile before opening the double doors and greeting the waiting crowd of children. A small sigh of relief had just escaped him when she looked back up at him curiously.

"Oh, it's you!" she said.

Danny stopped in the middle of his report, which was convenient since Connor hadn't heard a word of it. "Do you guys know each other?"

Connor had no idea how to answer. He shoved his hands in his pockets and chanced another look at her. She was smiling as if they shared a private joke, and the deep dimple in her left cheek made his heart skip almost as much as the fear that she was about to blow his cover right there, with swarms of officers within easy earshot.

He cocked his head to the side and tried to appear thoughtful.

"Oh, well no, not really," she admitted, "We just…frequent the same establishments."

What, shady motels? Dark alleyways at night?

"Huh?" Danny asked, looking to Connor.

It was all Connor could do to look innocently confused as he tugged his lighter out and attempted to light a cigarette that he prayed would calm his nerves. He thought about making a run for it when she turned to pull a roll of gauze out of a cabinet, but he couldn't see a way to escape without drawing even more attention.

After a moment of silence, she looked up and seemed to realize the reunion was one-sided. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, flushing, "You probably don't remember, it was only a moment--"

The Zippo slipped out of his nervous fingers and landed on the asphalt at her feet. He remembered the way that cracked narcotics vial had collided with his boot that night and marveled that she could be so nonchalant about this.

She picked it up carefully, slender fingers brushing the calluses on his palm when she handed it back to him. "…I've seen you at the Broken Yolk a few times."

"Ah, the Yolk! Aye, I do remember now." He grinned at her like a fool, relieved beyond measure and suddenly finding the entire situation ridiculous. Too bad his brother was still chatting it up with Sister Margaret; Murphy would hate to know that he missed seeing Connor squirm.

"You go to the Yolk, too?" Danny asked her with a twinkle in his eye, "Ever…buy the newspaper?"

"Jesus, Danny…"

"Not if I can help it," Leah answered, the dimple disappearing, "at least lately. Should we let Danny go first?" She asked the giddy group of kids who had formed more of a mob than a line during their conversation. The majority cheered and Danny took his place on the gurney. "Where do you want it?"

Danny pointed to his head, giving her a sideways glance as she began to wrap the gauze expertly around an invisible injury. "Do you get to do this all the time?"

"Treat head injuries? Not all the time, actually the last one was…" She closed her eyes for a moment, and Connor took advantage of the opportunity to study her face unwatched. High, elegant cheekbones, a small, slightly upturned nose and a wide, easy smile, framed by the kind of fine blonde hair that would never darken with age. Her skin was smooth and pale, even after a long, warm summer.

And then he was caught; deep, penetrating brown eyes met his own, bringing him instantly back to that moment in the alley when the silent plea in those eyes had drawn him out of the shadows.

A secret, irrational part of him wanted her to remember, wanted her to know that it was he who had saved her. But as soon as the feeling materialized, it was gone again, buried beneath what was sane, logical, safe. He gave her his most charming smile, and made no excuse for staring so blatantly.

"Miss Solomon?" Danny prodded.

"Oh! I'm sorry – it was three weeks ago – motorcycle collision on D street. No helmet, not too smart."

"Was it really bad?"

"Well, he certainly didn't look as heroic as you with his bandaging, but then, I don't think he was as cute to begin with," Leah said matter-of-factly, winking at Connor and pretending not to notice when Danny's face went beet red. "And for the finishing touch…" She opened a tackle box and dug through what looked like a treasure chest of Halloween accessories: severed fingers, patches of fake skin featuring all sorts of gashes and lacerations, and under it all, a bottle of dark red liquid. Leah dribbled it over the gauze on one side of Danny's temple, earning enthusiastic approval from the young on-lookers.

Connor stepped a few feet away to finish his cigarette and give the growing crowd more space, and listened to Danny interrogate Leah on the specifics of treating gory injuries. He continued to watch her interact with the children, calling each one by name and going through two more rolls of gauze and nearly the whole bottle of blood before the last mom-shocking fake injury was complete and the last child skipped happily away.

"Where do you get all this stuff?" Danny asked, picking up a palm-sized nasty-looking cut and slapping it on his forearm.

"_Moulage_? We use it for training." Danny reluctantly returned the piece of rubber as she began to pack up the supplies. "I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier, actually. I sent my partner to the drugstore over an hour ago for band-aids, but I think she skipped town. Remind me to tell her she's buying half the coffees," she said to Danny seriously.

"Coffees?"

She explained the real stakes of the game to them and though he felt a little guilty for his contribution to her fate, Connor couldn't help but laugh.

"Christ, I had no idea. Maybe we shouldn't have been so quick to bring Danny his bag." Danny narrowed his eyes, and Connor reached out to ruffle his hair. "Nah, just joshin'…though it's hard to admit I'd chose you over a beautiful woman."

Leah didn't comment as she placed the tackle box back in the cabinet, but Connor thought he saw her smile. Omar began to fidget with his backpack and gave a meaningful raise of his eyebrows to Danny.

Danny quickly slung his own bag over his shoulder. "Gotta go – thanks for the ride, Miss Solomon! See ya, Connor!"

They scampered off before Connor could even ask what the hurry was for.

"So Danny tells me you're neighbors?" she said, zipping the pockets closed on a blue medical bag.

"More like investors, really." He lifted the two remaining bags off the ground and handed them to her. "Kid's got a lot of ambition."

"So it seems- thanks- I saw the stack of questions he prepared, for his goal of riding the _fire_ truck…"

"Aye, too bad he got stuck with you instead," Connor said, pleased when he saw the dimple return.

"Well, I did my best to brainwash him, tried to convince him that EMS is just as exciting and dangerous."

"Not too much of a stretch, now is it?" He glanced at the pink scar along her hairline that appeared to be healing much more quickly than the one on his side.

Her expression became guarded and he kicked himself for being so obvious. She turned her back and touched a hand softly to the scar.

"I'm sorry," Connor said, "I didn't mean to--it's just that I've been following the story in the papers, and your name tag…"

"It's fine," she said and turned back around, but the distance was still there. "The risk is just part of the job." A scrap of red-stained gauze lay discarded on the edge of the gurney, and she picked it up thoughtfully. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For the blood on your hands."

He could utter no words with his mouth suddenly dry, until he realized she meant the question literally.

Connor scratched absently at the brownish smudges on the backs of his wrists. "Same as you, that is – just part of the job." Unwilling to own up to either of his occupations, he changed the subject. "Partner still not back from the store, then?"

Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she stood and scanned the dwindling crowd. "No, and I'm starting to get a little worried, to tell you the truth. I tried to call her on the radio, but she didn't--" Stopping abruptly, she shielded her eyes from the sun and took a few steps toward the street. "Okay, that is the fourth time I have seen that same guy walk his dog up that street. Kinda weird, don't you think?"

Connor followed her gaze to see an overweight man with thick glasses and a bad comb-over leading a chocolate Labrador puppy slowly up the block. Oblivious to his dog's interest in sniffing every pole, tree, and hydrant in its path, the man tugged it along behind him, never tearing his attention from the activity in the church parking lot.

Connor spun quickly, locating Murphy three booths away with an amused-looking Sister Margaret. Murphy's eyes were already on him, and with no more than a nod from Connor, he bid the nun farewell and strode quickly to join him.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you, Leah Solomon," Connor said, regretting the confused frown he elicited.

"You, too, Connor," she answered, making a movement to shake his hand, then withdrawing it awkwardly and sticking both hands in her pockets. "Say 'hi' to Danny for me, okay?"

"To be sure," Connor promised, smiling as he backed away, "You be careful out there."

With Murphy's curiosity blazing beside him, Connor resisted the urge to turn and take a last look at her before they rounded the corner of the sanctuary.

"Lord's making it easy on us today," he explained, nodding discretely toward the street. "Turns out old Stan's even closer to home than we thought. Guess you got yourself another sign."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Murphy caught sight of the pedophile as he neared the corner.

"He's probably out here every fucking day with that goddamn puppy, trying to lure them over."

"Should we take the car or just tail him on foot?"

"Let's take the car," Connor said, moving towards where they'd parked across from the front steps of the church. "I'd hate to--" He stopped at the sound of a child violently coughing and wheezing nearby, but there was no one in sight. A faint wisp of smoke rose from behind the bushes framing either side of the wide front steps.

"Hate to what?" Murphy asked.

"Shhh. Do you hear that?" Connor whispered, edging closer, and feeling his stomach drop as he recognized both the speaker and the scent.

"Is that who I think it is?" Murphy whispered back.

Connor nodded, frowning.

Murphy ran a hand through his hair, and looked back to where the man was about to disappear around the side of a building . "Fucking hell, we're going to lose him!"

"I know, but if this isn't yet another one of your fucking signs, I don't know what is." Connor glanced heavenward as he pushed ahead through the bushes. "Next time, you leave the seekin' and the askin' to me."

---o()o---

_**So?? Please review and let me know what you think!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Notes:**_** Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, and welcome to those just joining us! **

…

**Chapter 11**

"You're sure you know who it was?" Annie asked Leah doubtfully as they pulled away from the church parking lot.

"Positive. I just saw him with this very same Zippo." She held it up to the window, the setting sun casting an orange tinge on the brushed steel.

"I still don't know why you're so sure he'll be at the Yolk – but, you're the boss…"

"It's just a hunch. I see the two of them there all the time. I don't think they cook much."

She would never admit it, but her weekly meeting with the two Irishmen, though never more than a nod of hello and a smile, was something Leah had started to look forward to.

It was on a coffee run in early September when she'd first overheard them teasing the silver-haired woman behind the counter, and she'd been inescapably charmed by their accented banter. While the older woman rang up her order, she'd stolen a glance in their direction, and met with a pair of bright blue eyes and a smile that made her stomach flip as it hadn't in a long time. He was barely older than herself, with untidy brown hair and the kind of scruffy facial hair that appeared grown more of laziness than of conscious intent. His darker-haired friend radiated the same unwashed morning-after aura that left Leah convinced that their Saturday night had been much more interesting than hers.

They were dressed similarly in dark tee shirts and jeans, with matching tattoos on their necks. As she'd stood there pondering whether they might be ex-Navy, the darker-haired man turned in her direction as well, and she realized the older woman was holding out her drink orders, waiting patiently with a knowing look in her eyes. Leah had taken the cups quickly, glancing back as she turned to go.

Even now, she cringed as she recalled almost dropping her coffee when the first man – Connor, she knew now - had winked at her, his smile curving into a flirty grin that told her he knew exactly what effect he was having. It was all she could do to walk out of there without tripping over herself. She was at once giddy and humiliated at the encounter, and had to laugh at herself when she explained to her partner that the seventeen dollars in change she'd forgotten at the counter was gone forever; there was no way she was going back for it now.

Earlier this afternoon, she'd been pleasantly surprised to finally talk to him in person, and had even thought there might be something more behind those piercing blue eyes and hypnotic accent. Now, the image of Danny's green-tinged face made her itch to lay down some punishment on the reckless adults responsible, but even in her anger she felt a pang of disappointment that her mystery man had turned out to be such a jerk. Running her thumb over the smooth, cool metal of the lighter, she told herself to let it go, to chalk it up as just another disillusionment and stand up for a poor kid no one else was watching out for.

"Just stop here and let me out," Leah instructed as the ugly yellow roof came into view.

"Here?"

"Right here."

"We're in the middle of the street!"

"Well, park this thing then. There's a space right there between the Toyota and the Volkswagen."

Annie leaned forward, squinting to get a better look at the passenger side mirror.

"Maybe you'd better get out here."

Leah unbuckled her seat belt. "I shouldn't be more than ten minutes. Just long enough to tear this guy a new one."

"Are you getting coffee, too?"

"I can. You want one?"

Annie nodded as a horn blared behind them. "Ok, now go! I'll pick you up out front."

"Ten minutes!" Leah yelled as she hopped out and slammed the door.

The light was just turning green as she jogged between the idling cars, hurrying across the sidewalk and slipping quickly inside behind an old couple, nearly knocking them over.

_Slow down, girl_. Taking a deep breath, she scanned the faces of the restaurant's Friday evening dinner patrons. Until Annie asked, it had not actually occurred to her that Danny's friends might not be here.

Before she could stop to rethink her hasty decision, she spotted two scruffy and irritatingly good-looking men sitting at a booth right smack in the middle of the center aisle. A faint voice warned her not to make a scene, but with the image of Danny's poor sickly face clear in mind, her heart began to pound and the voice was silenced.

---o—o—o---

"We're still ahead of the game though," Connor said, swiping a French fry from his brother's plate, "even if it takes a couple of days to spot him again."

Murphy swallowed the last of his burger. "I just can't believe he's been there the whole time."

"Aye, you'd think someone would have noticed him hanging about by now."

"They've had enough troubles lately," Murphy said, shaking his head, "Sister Margaret says the school can't stay open past Christmas if they don't get some serious donations."

"Jesus. Well, we can help a bit with that last paycheck, but I'm hoping they've got a better plan."

"Aye – Father Riley." Murphy said, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. "The last parish he visited had its budget more than double in under a year."

"That right, then?" Connor asked, sipping his Coke, "What's the story there?"

Murphy shrugged. "Divine inspiration for all I know. Guess he's some sort of fund-raising mastermind. He's the reason Danny started his little business."

"Apart from the girl, you mean," Connor said, taking another fry and looking out the window as an ambulance drove by.

Murphy followed his gaze and cleared his throat. "Speaking of, how's your woman doing?"

Damn, he knew this was coming, sooner or later. "Fine, just fine. Looks like she's recovered entirely."

Murphy raised his brows. "Recovered entirely? Conduct a thorough examination, did you?"

"Just professional curiosity, remember?"

"Oh, right. For a minute there, I'd gone and thought you might be interested in her." Murphy sucked down the last of his drink, not taking his eyes off Connor. "But then, beautiful blondes aren't really your type, are they?"

"Piss off," Connor said, and flicked a rolled-up straw paper at him. "Anyway, talking to her was more nerve wracking than anything. I swear I thought she recognized me at least three different times. I don't think I could take her on a proper date, for fear I'd have a fucking heart attack."

Murphy chuckled. "Ah, but then she'd have to give you mouth-to-mouth…"

Connor smiled at the image. "Well, it's out of my system now, you don't have to worry."

"Connor, this is _you_ we're talking about." Murphy leaned forward on the table. "Our fucking voice of reason. I'd sooner worry about our blessed Sisters endangering this mission than you losing focus over a woman."

"Thanks," Connor said, not sure if he should be insulted, "your enduring faith is so encouraging."

Murphy grinned. "That's what I'm here for." He reached for Connor's drink, swallowed the last of it and set it down with a satisfied sigh. "Now where the hell is Janice, I wonder?" Craning to look behind him, he saw Leah the same time Connor did.

She was walking speedily up the aisle towards them, moving graciously to the side as she passed a group exiting a booth, but not slowing down for a second. She caught Connor's eye as she approached and gave him a big smile, but something in her eyes unnerved him.

"Jesus, Con," Murphy hissed, "What did you say to her?"

Reaching their table, she came to an abrupt halt, the sudden change in momentum making her rock back on her heels. "Hi guys! Enjoying your dinner?"

"We are, thank you," Connor said cautiously, getting the uneasy feeling of being a passenger on a runaway train. "Care to join us?"

"Oh, no, I just thought I'd pop in and say hi – I'm Leah." She stuck her hand out to Murphy and he shook it slowly, kicking Connor under the table.

"Murphy."

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"Okay…" His eyes widened at Connor.

"Sorry I didn't get the chance to meet you earlier – we had to get back on the clock sooner than we planned. One of the students got unexpectedly sick."

"Oh, that's too bad," Murphy said.

"A mutual friend of ours, actually."

"You don't say," Connor said, sharing a look with his brother as he finally realized where this was headed.

"You wouldn't happen to know of a reason why Daniel Ferretti might have gotten sick this afternoon, would you?"

"Me?" There it was, the edge of the cliff, and they were headed straight for it, full speed ahead. "I don't, no. Murph?"

Murphy shrugged. "No idea."

She eyed each of them, first Murphy, then Connor. "No idea why he'd be vomiting his little heart out in the Mother Superior's petunias?"

Connor stared back at her silently, knowing she'd continue no matter what he answered.

"You can cut the crap – I know who you really are."

"Do ye?" Connor spoke casually, though his heart rate picked up instantly.

"I see guys like you every other day, and you're all the same. You think it's so cute to have a little kid following you around, hanging on your every word and worshiping the ground you walk on." Her voice was gradually getting louder, and Connor noticed the couple across the aisle kept glancing in their direction. "You pretend to be his friend, but the truth is you couldn't care less what happens to him, or how much damage you're really doing."

Okay, so there was a bug up her ass for sure, but he was fairly certain the Saints hadn't put it there.

"I don't mean to be rude, _Leah_," Murphy said, "but in the interest of time, why don't you just tell us what the fuck you're talkin' about?"

She reached into her pocket and held up a silver lighter-Connor's lighter-and set it down slowly, laying her hand beside it on the table and drumming her fingers.

"Want to tell me what Daniel Ferretti was doing with your lighter this afternoon?"

_Shit._ Why couldn't he have just let the boy keep burning up that book of matches? Connor could almost hear his brother's silent groan as Murphy rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.

"How do you know it's mine?" Connor asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

"Are you kidding me? You practically dropped it in my lap, right before lighting up in front of, oh, a dozen impressionable children. Now what was Danny doing with it?"

"I assume you know the answer to that, or you wouldn't have bothered to bring it here to me. Thanks, by the way." He reached for it, but she snapped it quickly back into her fist.

"So you admit it?" It was more of a statement than a question, and she leaned in menacingly, both hands on the table, a prosecutor skewering her defendant. "You admit you gave cigarettes to a ten-year-old boy?"

The couple at the table across the aisle had stopped eating entirely, captivated by their unfolding drama. Connor smiled disarmingly at them and then at Leah. "Darlin', would you mind terribly sittin' your arse down while you accuse me?" He took care to thicken the accent of his native tongue. "The sun's right behind ye and it's hurtin' my eyes."

She fixed him with an icy glare. "Do you really think you can just get away with this by trying to charm the pants off me?"

"Can't I?"

"Not this time."

"Oh?" Wicked amusement sparkled in Murphy's eyes as he slowly and deliberately looked her over. "Has he charmed them off before, then?"

"I'm sorry," Connor said, "but I'm sure I'd remember that."

"I'm serious."

"Oh, believe me, so am I."

Her porcelain cheeks flushed a deep crimson that would have been pretty if she weren't so furious.

She huffed out an exasperated sigh, ran a hand through her hair and looked around the diner.

"Do you see that man over there?" She asked them suddenly, and Connor followed her gaze to see their old accomplice, Detective Greenly, sitting alone at the counter, inhaling a burger with alarming speed.

"He's one of the top detectives in the city," she continued, and Connor tried to look properly impressed, knowing if he looked at his brother he'd lose it for sure. "If he knew what you did, if he even _suspected_, he'd arrest you so fast--" A large slice of tomato slid out of the burger and landed with a splatter on the detective's shirt, and all three watched as he glanced around furtively, put it back on the burger and then tried to lick off the smear of condiments it left behind.

Murphy began to cough violently, earning him a vicious glare from Leah, but Connor allowed himself no such outlet, however amusing the woman's threats might be. She was mighty bold to come at them like this, and whether he appreciated her motivations or not, he wasn't about to roll over and take it.

"Sit down, darlin'," Connor repeated, but there was no charm in the endearment this time. He matched her stare, unsmiling, until at last she blinked and looked down at the seat next to Murphy. Slowly, cautiously, she lowered herself into it, seeming reluctant to bring herself down to their level.

"Now," Connor began civilly, "since you care so much – and I can see that you do – I can assure you that I did not _give_ Danny any cigarettes." She narrowed her eyes at him, and spun to glare at Murphy a second later. "And neither did my brother, for Christ's sakes!"

She shook her head, obviously unconvinced, and reached into her other pocket. "Then where did he get these?" she asked, tossing an empty pack of Virginia Slims into the center of the table.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't know about that. What did Danny tell you?"

"He wouldn't. And Omar doesn't talk at all."

"Not to you."

"Does he talk to you?"

Connor shrugged, rather pleased to have hit a sore point. "Well, I guess we'll never know then, will we?"

Her hands slapped down on the table and she sprung angrily from her seat. "You are a real piece of work, you know that? Both of you." She shared her wealth of disdain with Murphy. "You gave him those cigarettes and made him smoke the whole pack! Roll him a joint while you were at it? Help him shoot up? You are a lying, irresponsible--"

Connor couldn't stop himself. He was on his feet before he knew it, countering her, and taking full advantage of his superior height in a way that a man should never intimidate a woman, but too incensed to care.

"First of all, don't ever call me a liar. You don't even know me. I might think you're a self-righteous, hard-headed, ignorant b—_woman_, but you don't hear me callin' ye that to your face."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, "That would be rude."

Connor's face was only inches from hers, and he couldn't help but notice how the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes flashed with her anger. The scent of her hair suddenly caught him off guard and he breathed it in on instinct. What was that, apples?

He shook his head and took a step back, unnerved. Leah seemed at a momentary loss for words as well.

"That your ride that keeps passing by out there?" Murphy asked, breaking the sudden silence and nodding toward the ambulance moving past the diner's window.

Leah blinked. "Yeah, that's my partner, she's…waiting for me."

Connor took his seat again, feeling like his legs had turned to Jell-O, and continued as if simply finishing the point he'd begun.

"Secondly, do you really think I smoke Virginia Slims? I mean, _really_?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she lowered herself into the seat again without comment. With a small, defeated nod from Murphy, Connor decided to come clean. She was only looking out for the boy, same as they were, and clearly wasn't going to be satisfied until she'd gotten an explanation.

"Look, we found the boys outside the sanctuary with the smokes already. Probably fecked them from their Ma or some such. They had a book of matches and from the looks of it were right about to start a damn forest fire, trying to light up."

Murphy faced her, twisting to lean against the inside wall of the booth. "They were going to smoke the fuckin' things anyway, whether we were there or not."

"Now, despite what you may believe," Connor continued, "we _don't_ think it's something ten-year-old kids ought to be playing at, so we did the best thing we could think of to keep them from starting the habit."

"Giving him your lighter and telling him to smoke the entire pack?"

"More or less," Murphy answered with a shrug.

"How is that--"

"Think about it," Connor said, leaning forward. "The night before's always sexier than the mornin' after, isn't it?"

Leah blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Connor enjoyed watching the pink creep into her cheeks again.

"I'm afraid I don't." She lifted her chin primly, but avoided his eyes.

Connor grinned at her. "Somethin' tells me that you do…but I'll explain it to you anyway." He sat back and took a breath. "It's the expectation, the thrill of the unknown that's so attractive to him right now. It's the night before."

Her eyes narrowed but she didn't speak.

"We let him experience the real thing," Connor continued, "Told him he'd not be doing it right unless he could smoke a whole cig in three drags."

Her eyes closed. "You didn't."

"Aye, we did," Murphy said, but at least had the decency to look guilty. "We had to run, so we didn't get to see when he stopped."

"I really never expected him to get through the entire pack," Connor admitted, "He's quite a kid."

"Well, you'll be glad to know he's more than made you proud. Turned a rather Irish shade of green and threw up every last bite of carnival food he ingested today. Colorful stuff."

"He'll be all right again tomorrow," Connor said.

"Tomorrow, maybe. Tonight he's nauseated, light-headed, got terrible dry-mouth, a sore throat and first-degree burns on both hands."

"Takes you back, doesn't it, Con?" Murphy mused nostalgically.

"You think this is funny?" She wheeled on Murphy, temper sparked again. "He's just a boy, a good kid. His dad's not around – he needs guys like you to look out for him, not have a good laugh at his expense."

"We _are_ looking out for him," Murphy countered, digging out a cigarette of his own, oblivious to the way the action contradicted his words. "That's the whole fucking point."

"Look, Leah," Connor said, and she turned at the sound of her name. "Danny's sufferin' tonight, but there's good reason for it. He's going to feel like hell anytime he even _thinks_ about smoking for at least the next couple of years."

She cocked her head to the side and met his eyes for a moment. When she spoke, it was quieter but with no less feeling. "But don't you see, he wants to do it because he sees _you_ do it. He really looks up to you guys."

She paused, picked the lighter back up and twirled it in her fingers. "He talked about you non-stop on our ride today," she added, unaware of the tremors she was sending through him with the sad smile on her lips. "You're the coolest guys in the world to him, and he just wants to be like you. Can't you understand that?" For a moment, Connor thought her smile might stay. But it didn't, and the disappointed frown that crept back in its place reached him far more than her anger had.

"Look, we'll try not to smoke in front of him anymore, all right?" Connor offered, "but I'll not apologize for what we did. I'm tellin' you, it worked for the two of us, it'll work for Danny as well."

"Yes, I can see how well it worked," Leah said, waving away Murphy's wayward cloud of smoke.

"Not indefinitely," Connor said, glaring at his brother, who responded by blowing him a perfect smoke ring. "But for a few good years, anyway, until we were old enough to buy them ourselves and not be feckin' 'em after school. Smartest thing our Uncle Siebal ever did for us."

"But what did your father have to say about it?"

Connor looked at Murphy, whose eyes had darkened instantly. He thought seriously before answering. "I think he would've been glad for it. I think he'd have appreciated his brother's attempt at intervention."

"Oh," she said softly, "I'm sorry," and there was a sincerity in her eyes that Connor found both touching and embarrassing.

He shrugged, trying to regain his distance. "It's inaction that's the hardest to fight. Indifference, apathy, whatever you want to call it. Our Da was never one to work that way, and neither are we. We did what we did for Danny because it would have been wrong not to. It was a gamble – maybe not the one you'd have taken, but at least we tried."

She sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment before finally turning back to him, a look he couldn't quite read in her dark eyes. "I can appreciate that you tried," she said slowly, "your intentions, anyway. I'm not used to running into other people who feel as strongly as I do about this kind of thing." Her half-smile was a silent thank-you, or maybe an apology, and Connor gave her a slight nod in return. He wasn't used to it either.

"I still think the effect will be more harm than good, but I guess it's too late to change it now, so we'll just have to wait and see how your gamble plays out."

They were interrupted by a loud crackle from her radio, followed by an unintelligible string of sounds that may or may not have been English.

Leah sighed and ducked her head to respond quietly into the radio, failing in an apparent attempt to remain inconspicuous. "Copy that, Base, Medic 6-1 en-route." She stood, glancing towards the door and then back at Connor and Murphy, taking just a second longer than necessary to replace the radio on her belt.

"How much?" Connor asked quickly, knowing she had to leave, but for some reason not yet wanting to see her go.

"How much what?"

"How much do you want to bet that Danny won't be smoking again?"

"I'm not going to bet on that!"

"Come on, what's a gamble if there's nothing to win?"

She rolled her eyes, but something tugged at the corners of her mouth. "All right, how about a cup of coffee?" she suggested.

"Aren't you going to be pretty tired of buying coffee after today?" Murphy asked.

She groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. "Yes, thanks so much for the reminder."

"If you're going to buy us anything," Connor continued, wondering how far he could take this, "How about a drink? Or is that body of yours fueled on caffeine alone?"

Her eyelids lowered warily and she glanced again towards the door. "You'd be surprised. But you'll be buying anyway – not that I want to win, particularly, seeing as that would mean Danny would be smoking…you know, this is kind of an unfair bet…"

"Aye, don't make the girl bet on somethin' like that," Murphy said quietly, a hint of warning in his eyes that Connor saw and chose to ignore.

"One drink," Connor said, "And you can be the one to make the call on our boy."

She shifted her weight. "You were supposed to be begging for forgiveness by now," she said, looking beyond him as her ambulance passed by yet again on the street outside. "This wasn't how it was supposed to go."

"Not used to being proven wrong?"

"You haven't proven me wrong yet," she said, resting a hand on her hip and raising her brows in a remarkably Ma-like fashion. He couldn't help but smile at the similarity, and her face softened. "But no, I'm not used to it."

The radio crackled again and she squeezed a button on the side, silencing it as she turned towards the exit.

"Will I be having my lighter back then, then?" Connor asked.

She studied the Zippo in her hand for a moment, then turned back and held it over Connor's outstretched palm. "Don't make me regret this."

He closed his thumb over her hand, squeezing it gently. "It's a promise."

Her smile was mostly borne of exasperation, he knew, but it didn't change the electricity that coursed through him at the sight of that damned dimple.

Her pace picked up as she neared the exit, and she was jogging by the time she reached the ambulance out front. With a jarring whoop, the unit's lights and sirens came to life and caused brief panic in nearby vehicles, finally clearing a path through the crowded intersection and out of sight.

"What are you doing?" Murphy asked, and Connor realized his brother's eyes had been on him, and not the departing ambulance. "What happened to getting it out of your system?"

"Must be a relapse." Connor shrugged, hoping to brush off Murphy's concern, but in truth having no reasonable explanation. "Don't worry about it, I don't even have her number. Chances are we won't ever see her again."

Murphy considered him for a moment, taking a last drag on his cigarette then grinding it out in the ashtray. "C'mon," he said, throwing some cash on the table, "We've wasted enough time here already. Let's get to work."

----o()o----


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Thanks as always for your patience. This chapter is actually only the first half of a much greater whole, but I just can't stand dragging this posting hiatus on any longer! Stay tuned…**

**Chapter 12**

"So, how'd it go?" Annie shouted over the wail of the siren. "Rip him a new one?"

Leah didn't seem to hear her, focused on an upcoming intersection. "Aren't you going to turn here?"

"Third Street is faster this time of day," Annie said, catching Leah's look of surprise. "I mean, I've heard."

"How do you know that?"

Annie chewed her lip. "Manny told me," she lied. "This is the fastest route to the back entrance of the Community--"

"The what? What's the address?" Annie recited it to her. Leah groaned and reached for the radio on the dash. "Base, Medic six-one confirming, is this another whack job?"

"Whack job?" Annie repeated, swerving to avoid a pothole.

Leah shushed her with a wave of her hand. There was a short pause, then a crunch of static and a dry, expressionless male voice answered, "Medic six-one, that's affirmative. The Westerly Adult Community is urgently requesting medical assistance."

Leah swore under her breath, then punched the button to reply, "Base, this makes three calls in less than twenty-four hours to the W.A.C. Please advise, is there some sort of prize for that?"

The static crackled, went dead, then crackled again and the expressionless voice returned. "Affirmative, Six-one, there's a special package waiting for you in room 127. Congratulations. Over."

Leah shook her head, but she was smiling when she replaced the radio, and Annie decided she'd better speak now before her partner's mood swung again.

"Listen," she began, leaning into a turn that she probably should have taken ten miles per hour slower. "I really am sorry about earlier."

"Earlier?" Leah threw an arm against the door for support, looking confused.

"When I missed the game at the fair." Leah started to shrug her off, but Annie pressed on. "The radio wouldn't go through, and the back-up unit took like twenty minutes to get there."

"It's all right, don't worry about."

"I know it's my fault we lost," she continued, "I tried to turn over as soon as they got there, but Steve had me holding C-spine--"

"Steve? My ex-partner Steve? What was he doing there?"

"Asking about you, mostly," Annie said, braking and weaving around a Chevy that couldn't decide on which side of the street to pull over.

"About me?"

"Yeah, he seemed pretty concerned that you returned to work so soon."

Leah started to speak, stopped, turned in her seat to face Annie, then started again. "What do you mean _concerned_, exactly? The only time I've known Steve to be concerned about another human being, he'd accidentally given a double dose of Valium to a patient, and just prayed for her to stay alive until we reached the E.R."

Annie had definitely gotten the slime-ball vibe from him, but had assumed her opinion of Mayor Fitzgerald's son wouldn't be much appreciated. Apparently, she and Leah had more in common than she'd thought. "Yeah, it was almost like he wanted me to say you _weren't_ doing well, like he was hoping for some dirt or something."

"So, what'd you tell him?"

"The truth, that you're perfect. Incredibly brilliant, talented, highly skilled."

Leah raised her eyebrows warily, "What'd he say to that?"

"That he was sorry, and that if I wanted a new preceptor he could make some calls for me."

Leah chuckled. "Listen, I know it's been a rough couple of weeks. I've probably been a little too hard on you. "

Annie tensed, certain there was a criticism not far behind. "You've had a lot on your mind."

"I've been a bitch," Leah said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "It's a trait that was recently brought to my attention."

The admission was so unexpected, Annie nearly missed her turn. "I know it hasn't been easy for you. On top of what happened in that alley, having to keep all my patients alive…"

"You're not _that_ bad."

"But almost? Almost that bad?"

"No, no," Leah said, bracing both hands against the dash as they bounced over some dips in the road. "You've got good instincts, you just need practice."

Annie gave her a sideways glance. "You really think so?"

"Sure – like that shoulder pain this morning that you figured out was referred from gall stones – it took you way too long to assess, but most newbies never would have gotten it right in the first place."

Annie nodded, pleased beyond words. "Okay, I can work on that. What else?"

Leah hesitated. "Do you really want to hear this?"

"I'm not going to get anywhere if you start being nice to me now."

Leah's laugh was cut short by Annie's hairpin turn into the adult community parking lot.

"Okay, so about your driving…"

An hour later, they turned over the elderly patient who'd been reported as "unresponsive", but was more accurately described as "dead for three days" to the coroner, and strolled out to the unit discussing the superior traits of Dunkin' Donuts' versus Starbuck's coffee.

"I love a good Macchiato, but nothing's as good as theYolk," Leah said as she pulled her seat belt on and checked the buckle with a cautionary tug. "There's never a line, and you can't beat the price."

"I know, I was bummed you didn't have time to pick any up tonight."

Leah cocked her head and a smile spread across her face. "To be honest, I completely forgot."

Annie watched her curiously. "So, are you going to tell me what he said?"

"What who said?"

Annie forced herself to keep her eyes on the unpredictable Friday night traffic as she pulled out of the parking lot. "The smoking guy, who do you think?"

"Oh. He was...not what I expected."

"Did he try to deny it? I bet he did, the bastard."

"No, he admitted it," Leah said slowly, and Annie glanced over to see her running fingers over the back of her other hand. "Wouldn't apologize for it either, seemed to have a rather unique sense of morals."

"Unique? Like distorted, screwy?"

Leah stared out the darkened window. "More like…old fashioned."

"Sounds like trouble to me."

"Yeah," Leah said, the passing lights sweeping over her thoughtful expression. "Definitely trouble."

o-()-o

"…and then we can just sneak back out the way we came in."

Murphy tilted his head sideways and prayed for a gust of wind. Of the two scantily clad young things sauntering down the sidewalk past them, he had almost determined that the go-go dancer had the better ass, but the frothy white skirt barely covering the angel's tanned specimen certainly had the potential to make it a draw. Unfortunately, the heat wave they'd been hearing about for weeks had finally arrived, thick and oppressive, wiping out any chance of a refreshing and potentially revealing evening breeze.

"Will I run it by you again, or should I wait until they've turned the corner?" Connor asked, still staring up at the second-floor window above the Quickie Laundromat.

"Out the way we came in, I heard you."

"Which is?"

"Fire escape?" Murphy guessed, ducking quickly as Connor's hand reached to smack him on the back of the head.

"Ow, all right, sorry."

Connor repeated his carefully wrought strategy, and Murphy tried to commit it to memory this time, though his excitement at the prospect of finally completing this mission made it difficult to concentrate. It had actually taken them more than two weeks before they'd spotted Waters again, getting off a city bus much further from the church than they'd expected. They'd followed him, disbelieving, all the way to Dorchester street, where it turned out he was living in a corner apartment just on the next block down from Danny and Omar's favorite comic book store.

Murphy had wanted to make the hit that very night, but eventually agreed to Connor's suggestion that they wait a few more days until Halloween, when their masks and guns would appear less sinister to any unexpected witnesses.

He'd agreed, not because he thought a couple days would make that much difference, but because his brother finally seemed to have his mind back on the job.

They'd made no real change in their eating habits at the Yolk, but Murphy had not missed the way Connor's eyes found the door each time the entrance bell jingled, or the way he always picked the seat with a clear view of the street outside.

He'd teased Connor about never losing focus on the mission, and had been amused, then somewhat irritated to think it might actually be happening. Now that they'd found Waters again, Murphy was happy to agree to anything, so long as it meant his brother's attention was back where it ought to be.

And now, tonight was the night. They'd come to scope out the scene once more before dark, then the plan was to hit a bar or two to establish an alibi, then with the cover of night and the holiday's unique camouflage, they'd finally give Waters what he deserved.

Connor was going over alternate routes of escape when his words were drowned out by the unmistakable growl of Harley-Davidson custom pipes. A thickly-built man on a black cruiser motored down the crowded, car-lined street, turned and thundered up the sidewalk on the next block and came to a stop just past the corner market. He wore jeans and boots, and had enough ink on both arms that it took a second glance to realize he wore a sleeveless tee shirt and not a full turtleneck. Cutting the ignition, he sat back on the leather seat to flex his fingers several times and then remove his helmet and dark sunglasses.

"What are you supposed to be, one of the fucking Village People?"

Sweat glistened on the man's bald head as he turned slowly, sharp green eyes narrowed at Murphy and Connor as they approached.

He let out a bellowing laugh. "Christ almighty, what are you two doing here?"

"We could ask you the same thing, Rob," Connor said, smiling at their old friend, "Not often we see your kind in Southie."

"Well, that's about to change, my boy," Rob said, swinging himself off the bike and throwing a tattooed arm around each of their necks for a painful group bear hug. "Hey, I thought you two left Boston? I had to move myself across town just to find some more worthless micks to sit in my chair."

"What, here?" Murphy asked, "_Lost & Found_, that's you?"

Rob patted his pockets, located a key, and led them over to the door of the empty storefront. "Used to be a barbershop," he said, sticking the key in the lock. "Needs a little sprucing up, but it's still got the chairs and this great checkered floor…" He jostled the key when it wouldn't turn, then yanked and shook the handle and finally resorted to kicking and cursing it.

"Goddamn useless landlord changed the locks this morning, must have given me the old key. Shit!"

"It's all right, man, we'll be around," Connor said, "you can show us later on."

"No, it's – goddamn it! A couple of guys I met in the program are helping me move in tonight."

"Tonight?" Murphy asked, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice as he glanced at Connor. The last thing they needed was a moving truck and a parade of witnesses marching past the scene of their intended crime. "On Halloween?"

Rob rubbed his face wearily with both hands. "I've got to be out of the place in Roxbury by the first. Fucking wops won't give me another extension, now that we're so far behind…you know what? It's fine." He took a breath. "I'll just go get the right key, call the guys--"

"What time do you have to be out tomorrow?" Murphy interrupted, seizing the opportunity.

"Aye," Connor said, "Why don't we come help you first thing in the morning?"

Rob sighed, tucked the key back in his pocket. "I can't ask you to do that."

"Don't ask then," Murphy said, cupping his hands around his eyes and trying to peer through the glass into the darkened shop. "We'll be here at seven."

"Seven," Rob repeated, crossing thick arms over his barrel chest as he watched a group of rowdy pirates pour out of the corner market, numerous brown paper bags in tow. "Think you'll be any good to me at that hour?"

"Oh, aye," Connor assured him, "We're only out for a sip tonight. Maybe a bit of sight-seeing." He elbowed Murphy as a group of Spice Girls flitted past and smiled coyly at them.

Murphy smiled back, inciting a round of giggles. "Don't suppose you're interested?"

Rob shook his head with a sigh. "Those days are long gone for me." He walked back and mounted the bike. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this," he said, reaching for his helmet. "I'll see if I can't make it worth your while."

"Don't worry about it," Murphy said, "We know you'd do the same for us. Family, right?"

"Right," Rob said, studying Murphy just long enough to kill the question on the tip of his tongue.

Connor cleared his throat, and Murphy knew his brother would ask what he himself couldn't. "How is the rest of the family, Rob?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Rob said heartily, giving Murphy another long glance, "Everyone's doing just fine."

Murphy nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets, knowing as always that that was the extent of the news they'd be getting.

"Tomorrow morning then?" Rob asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Connor said, and both brothers took a step back as the bike roared to life.

With a few gratuitous revs and a grin, Rob sped back off the way he came.

"Shit, that was close," Murphy said, turning from the departing taillights to follow his brother back to their car.

"'Twas a nice save, though," Connor said, slipping behind the wheel, "But don't think I'm hauling your ass out of bed tomorrow morning."

Murphy rolled the window down and let the warm evening air wash over him. "Just be certain you aren't bleeding into your sheets, and leave the wake-up call to me. I'll have my wits about me tonight, and come seven a.m., I'll be sober as a saint."

o-()-o


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note**_**: Happy Halloween!**

**Chapter 13**

Connor and Murphy headed for a bar on Dorchester Bay, one of the newer waterfront establishments that tended to attract a younger crowd. McGinty's would always be home, but even Doc had to admit that the small pub had never been able to pull off a good Halloween celebration, as the hard-working regulars preferred their usual happy-hour to costumes and candy.

The noise and music carried for nearly a block as they headed up the sidewalk toward The Lounge. The yellow lights of the University of Massachusetts twinkled at them from across the darkness of the bay. The moon was still low on the horizon, deceptively large and eerie and perfectly suited for a night such as this. A subtle breeze drifted off the water, warm and balmy, with an undercurrent of electricity as if crackles of lightning might spread through the black, cloudless sky at any moment. It was going to be an interesting night.

A line had formed outside the Lounge's door, where a woman dressed as an old-fashioned cigarette girl stood, collecting cover charges and actually selling packs of cigarettes from her tray, while an impressively built bouncer checked IDs. Behind the cigarette girl, a black sign with orange lettering boldly proclaimed: _Free Cover with a Costume! No costume, $10. Dollar Drinks 'til 11 PM!_

As they waited, they found themselves making small talk with a French maid and a cowgirl who kept asking Connor if he thought she would pass for twenty-one. Ahead of them, Murphy could see two guys dressed as cheerleaders, a few girls with fairy wings and inadvisably tight Tinkerbell-like outfits, and a group of chain-smoking superheroes including Catwoman, whose black vinyl outfit might have invited closer inspection if not for the Batman at her side.

When he reached the front of the line, Connor paid their cover and bought himself a pack of smokes. Murphy handed his ID to the bouncer, whose powerful arms made him look appropriately scary even without the hockey mask he wore.

"No costume, MacManus? I expected more from a couple of jokers like you."

The bouncer pushed up the mask and grinned at him.

"Timmy!" Connor said, "Quit the plant, did you?"

Murphy moved aside to clear the doorway and gave the cowgirl a wink as the French maid pulled her forward by the wrist.

"Nah, this is just a part-time thing," Timmy said, hardly glancing at the girls' IDs before waving them through. "But the pay's good. Now what the hell's up with you? Couldn't scrape together some costumes to save yourselves twenty bucks?"

Murphy looked down at his dark gray tee shirt, jeans, and boots, then over at Connor who wore the same except that his shirt was black. The truth was he hated being the guy that came to the costume party not dressed up. But the whole point of going out to establish an alibi was so people would remember seeing you; wearing a disguise would make as much sense as a cigarette lighter on a motorcycle.

Connor began to make their excuses when a thought occurred to Murphy.

He took off his shirt.

Behind him came giggles and a few muffled whispers.

Connor grinned.

Thirty seconds later, the cigarette girl handed them back their cash, Timmy slipped his mask back into place, still chuckling, and he and Connor stepped inside in search of beer.

-o-o-o-

The place was packed and stiflingly hot, despite the half-dozen fans that had been placed around the room with orange and black streamers attached and waving madly. Red paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, purple twinkle lights outlined the bar, windows, and some pool tables in the back, and black-light bulbs were glowing from somewhere behind the bar, undoubtedly providing an instant icebreaker for strangers discovering which parts of each other's outfits would glow the brightest.

True to its name, The Lounge featured a sprawling array of dark, velvety lounge chairs and sofa-like seating arranged in booths and alcoves along the walls of the large, low-ceilinged room, all of which were occupied. Small, intimate tables dotted the remaining floor space, but by this time of the night, there appeared to be standing room only. Music poured from unseen speakers, indecipherable from the roar of conversation, but the beat was solid enough that sporadic groups of girls were starting to dance.

The bar itself was a mob scene three bodies deep, but Murphy saw a few waitresses weaving amongst the tables and knew that that was their best bet.

"Let's make a round." Connor said, and Murphy nodded. They were bound to know somebody here that would share an empty chair or two.

They hadn't completed half a lap when someone called out to them.

"MacManus?"

He had to look for several seconds before he recognized the man in the half-hearted vampire costume. His black and red collared cape was tossed over the back of a chair at the table behind him and a set of plastic teeth lay discarded on a napkin. Most of his white face paint had sweated off, except for a pinkish smear around his mouth where it had mixed with some fake blood, now looking very much like calamine lotion. His friend wore green scrubs and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck. The two men leaned against a bottle-covered but currently unoccupied table, watching the end of a pool game between a seventies disco king and a priest.

"Officer Chaffey?" Murphy recognized the young cop that had unknowingly set the stage for Connor's and his divine calling last spring, arranging for them to stay the night in an empty holding cell with a leaky roof.

"Told you it was them, Mitchell," Chaffey said, giving them each a friendly handshake. "How's it going? It's been a while."

Mitchell smiled. "Yeah, we've been wondering where you ran off to."

Did they know about the Saints? Murphy was certain the three detectives and the special agent would never purposely spill their secret, but that didn't mean an accident couldn't happen, or that these men couldn't reach the conclusion on their own.

"Summer holiday," Connor said, "family and what-not. How about you, you guys keeping busy?"

"Yeah, I guess," Mitchell said, "Been kinda quiet since the Yakaveta thing, but if Mancini wins next week, we'll be up to our fuckin' eyeballs."

"We did have a good call a couple weeks ago, Greenly and the other guys are still working on it," Chaffey said, "You hear about that, at the Lucky Suites?"

No lingering looks, no silent understanding, no unspoken questions. They didn't have a clue.

"Aye," Murphy said, watching the priest sink the eight ball. "Saw it on the news. Hey, I think you're up."

The disco king grabbed another pool cue and swaggered over to them.

"Yo, Chaffey, it's on, man. Teams this time, cops versus docs. Where'd Solomon go?"

Chaffey took the stick from him. "Greenly got lost on the way to the bar, she went to go find – oh, there they are."

Connor didn't say anything. Didn't raise an eyebrow. Didn't give any indication that he even recognized the name. But then Murphy caught his eye and Connor shook his head ever so slightly.

_Not a fucking word. _

Murphy only chuckled. He had no intention of interfering in whatever the hell his brother had going for this girl. As far as tonight was concerned, it only helped their alibi, and they'd be off to more important things before either one of them could get too distracted.

He turned towards the bar and saw the pitchers first. Filled to their brims with an amber brew, they bounced and swayed above the heads in the crowd, held aloft by a familiar tall man in a black suit, the sleeves of which were about an inch too short for the young detective's long arms. He wore a lavender shirt, a deep blue silk tie, and a shoulder-length brown wig that didn't sit quite straight on his head.

Behind him was Leah, or at least he assumed it was. She wore a blood-smeared, pinstriped Yankees jersey and a ball cap over a messy blonde ponytail. As she drew closer, trying to follow the path Greenly carved through the bodies, he saw she sported a black eye and multiple cuts and bruises on her arms, neck and face.

"Hey, hey!" Greenly said as he spotted them. "I heard a rumor you two were back in town – what the hell are you doing so far from McGinty's?"

"C'mon man," Murphy said, helping Chaffey clear a spot on the table for Greenly to set down the pitchers, "No cover with a costume, dollar drinks 'til eleven…"

Leah came up beside him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Detective, don't believe a word she says," Connor said with a smile. He took the stacks of glasses from her, then leaned in closer. "Christ, those aren't real, are they?"

"I'm going to assume you mean my injuries," she said dryly.

Connor's smile twitched, but his eyes remained in safe territory. "Great costume," he told her.

"Thanks," she said, taking the glass of beer Connor poured for her. "Too bad you guys choked on yours – how much did they charge you for cover?"

"Don't be knockin' this ensemble, woman," Murphy said, plucking at his black tee shirt indignantly. "I had to borrow this."

Leah's brows furrowed. She looked at Chaffey, Mitchell, and the disco king, but they all shrugged.

Greenly groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He turned to Leah, and pointed at Murphy, "He's Connor," he pointed to Connor and sighed, "and he's Murphy. They just switched their fucking clothes."

The dimple in her cheek deepened with her laugh, and Murphy noticed that all the men in the group seemed to perk up a little, his brother included.

"Well, that's not so much worse than yours, now is it?" she said to Greenly, reaching out to tug on his tie. "You do look a lot like him, taller though."

"Fuck yeah I do," Greenly declared, adjusting his wig.

"I hate to say this," Murphy told him, "but I've got no idea who you're supposed to be."

"Seriously?" Greenly asked incredulously. "Okay, just one hint." He brushed his jacket back to rest a hand on his hip and ran his other hand over his fake hair, letting his wrist fall limply at his shoulder.

Connor got it a second before Murphy did and did a quick survey of the bar as he laughed. "You'd better pray to Jesus he doesn't see you."

Greenly followed his gaze for a moment, then tossed his hair. "If he sees me, I don't think even Jesus could save my ass."

The other officers agreed wholeheartedly, but reached a general consensus that the agent wasn't likely to patronize a place like the Lounge when the big city of Boston had so many more colorful options for man of his taste.

The disco king tapped his pool cues together. "Chaffey, Leah, you in for a doubles game, or what?"

Leah took the cue from him, but hesitated. "I think I'll sit this one out, Manny."

"C'mon, I need another doc out there," Manny insisted.

"Take Mitchell," she said, handing the stick to the officer in scrubs, "he's a doc, tonight at least."

Manny gave her a knowing look that was not unlike the ones Murphy had been giving Connor lately, but returned to the pool table with both Chaffey and Mitchell in tow.

Connor took some cash out of his wallet and started to hand it to the detective as they both took seats at the table. Greenly brushed off his offer and gestured to Leah, who was settling in the chair next to him.

Connor slipped the folded bills towards her. "Thanks for the beer," he said.

She pushed it back towards him. "Don't worry about it."

Connor picked up the money and stuck it inside the plastic vampire teeth in the center of the table. "I'm not worried about it."

She pushed the teeth back to him with one finger. "Really, you can get the next round."

"Not sure we'll be here that long," Connor said, "Guess this means I'm collecting that free drink you promised me."

Murphy reached for a pitcher. "Aye, it was kind of you to pay up so quickly."

"Pay up?" Greenly said, "I thought it was coffee you were supposed to buy."

Leah sighed. "This is no pay-up," she said, turning her ball cap around backwards and exposing a baseball-stitch imprinted bruise on her forehead. "The jury's still out on you two."

"Danny and Omar joined the choir you know," Connor said, "Reformed citizens they are, learned their lessons well."

"I think I'll make that judgment for myself, thanks," Leah said doubtfully.

Murphy topped off his glass, then settled back in his chair, enjoying the sound of someone else giving Connor a hard time. "Make any more citizen's arrests since we last saw you?" he asked her.

"Not lately," she said, as a harassed-looking waitress materialized and placed two shots of whiskey in front of the brothers. "How about you, enable any more underage delinquents?"

"From the cowgirl," the waitress said, inclining her head toward the bar, "She says to tell you 'thanks.'"

Leah's eyebrows shot up and a grin of amused disbelief crossed her face.

Connor reddened. "Not sure what she wants to thank us for…" He cleared his throat, picked up the shot glass and turned towards the bar, which was hardly visible through the mass of bodies. "But tell her she's welcome."

The waitress sighed. "Tell her yourself, I'm not a message service - especially when the girl tips like a damn high schooler."

Connor smacked Murphy on the arm as the others laughed. "This was your doing – hope you're fuckin' proud of yourself."

"I am," Murphy said, "And you ought to be too – already two fine things have bought you drinks tonight, and you've hardly lifted a finger. Must be your costume."

Leah took a long swallow, then smiled sheepishly. "I didn't actually _pay_ for these drinks..."

"Yeah," Greenly said, "This is just one of those perks of being a celebrity."

"No," Leah said loftily, "The bartender's a hard-core Sox fan – those pitchers were on the house because my costume kicks ass."

Greenly shook his head, upsetting the wig so that it flopped over one eye. "Bullshit. He recognized you from the paper when you walked up. Said he wasn't going to let a brave girl like you pay for drinks in his bar, after what you've _been through_."

Leah lowered her glass and Murphy saw her face pale a shade or two beneath the purple of her bruises.

"Hey, enjoy it while it lasts!" Greenly said, slapping her on the back, "You'll be shelling out enough dough this month as it is."

"I still say I got the raw end of the deal – I mean, who _knows_ that stuff? Not you – and not Johnson, that's for sure."

"Luck of the draw," Greenly said smugly. "Guess you aren't too lucky."

"What was Danny's big question, anyway?" Connor asked. "I was meanin' to ask."

"'Who is the patron Saint of schools?'" Leah recited with a roll of her eyes.

Before the last word left her lips, Connor and Murphy's answers rang out in unison. "Saint Thomas Aquinas."

Greenly snickered and Leah looked from one twin to the other and back. "Who _are_ you people?"

Murphy shrugged. "Can't help it."

"'Tis true," Connor agreed, "It's a bit like knowing the alphabet or the times tables." He tapped his head with one finger. "Once it's in there, there's no getting rid of it."

"We should all be so lucky," Greenly muttered, giving Leah a sideways glance.

Leah just shook her head and took another drink. "So how do all you guys know each other, anyway?"

Murphy sipped his beer, stalling, and noticed that Greenly did the same.

"Your men here helped us out of a spot of trouble a while back," Connor said, glancing at Greenly, "'Twas no small thing, we owe them a lot of thanks."

"Just a misunderstanding," Greenly said with a shrug, "we just gave you a place to crash for the night."

"Misunderstanding," Leah said, "Seems like a common theme."

Leah studied Connor silently for a moment, her eyes narrowing, and Murphy watched his brother give her a guilty smile from behind his glass.

"You didn't mention you knew Sean when I pointed him out to you in the Yolk," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"Ah, well, you were on such a roll there, I hated to interrupt," Connor said, "Plus, you were scaring the shite out of me."

"Was I?" Leah asked, looking pleased. "I never would have guessed."

"He's a cool one, my brother," Murphy said, "You'd never know from looking at him that on the inside he's a quaverin' little girl."

Connor muttered a vulgar retort in Gaelic, and Murphy could only laugh, knowing the basic meaning wasn't lost on anyone.

Leah smiled at Connor. "You do hide it well."

"Aye, well," Connor said, bowing his head slightly, "It helps having fearless Murph here as my wingman."

"So tell us, Leah," Murphy said, deciding to indulge his brother a bit before they had to leave, "how'd you get to be an ambulance driver?"

Leah groaned, bringing both hands to her face, and Greenly snorted into his beer.

"What?" Murphy protested, "I think it's a fuckin' cool job!"

"Let me explain something to you boys," Greenly said, tossing back his fake hair in a perfect imitation of Agent Smecker, "as I can see it has completely escaped you." He leaned forward. "Calling her an ambulance driver is like calling the Pope a fuckin' alter boy, got it?"

Connor and Murphy both looked at Leah. "Seriously?"

She gave them a forgiving smile and raised her glass to Greenly. "And cops aren't meter readers."

"Or blue canaries," he said, pointing at her with his free hand and drinking to her toast. "And fire fighters aren't hose jockeys—well, okay, most of them are—but paramedics aren't ambulance drivers. Any fuckin moron can _drive_ an ambulance." He threw a gangly arm around her shoulders. "Except for your new partner, maybe."

"Hey now, she's no moron," Leah protested, inching ever so slightly away from him. "And she is getting better. We can't all be experts behind the wheel."

Murphy elbowed Connor, having heard the same snobbery from his brother's lips more than a few times over the years.

"Anyway, I've discovered that her talents lie elsewhere," Leah continued, brushing back a lock of hair that had slipped out of her cap, obscuring the baseball-imprinted bruise. "See? First time she ever used the stuff, and she was done before the fake blood even dried. Now if only I could get her to start an IV that quickly..."

"Where is this girl of yours tonight, anyway?" Murphy asked, "We keep running into you, but haven't seen her once."

Greenly batted his eyelashes at Murphy and almost fell out of his chair as he leaned a little too far. "What, my company's not good enough for you?"

"Sorry, Sean," Connor said, "I know my brother's a damn pretty boy, but believe it or not, he does prefer the ladies."

Murphy gave him a one-finger salute with the hand holding his beer as he took a drink.

Leah glanced at her watch. "She ought to be here by now."

"Shite driver, good with a paintbrush," Connor said, ticking the items off on his fingers, "what else?"

"She's new to the company…" Leah shrugged. "She's a nice girl, I think you'll like her."

Connor and Murphy groaned and Greenly waved his hand through the air impatiently, "Nice girl? Don't tell them about her great personality, too. C'mon, cough up the vital stats." He winked at her and leaned over to Connor, who had to steady him. "Paramedic humor, ye know," he whispered loudly, "She's hot, just take my word for it."

Leah rolled her eyes. "She's a skinny little brunette, just moved here from the west coast…I don't know, what do you want to know?"

He could probably find more information on the Internet than he was getting here. "For Christ's sakes, woman - is she single?"

"I don't really know. I've seen her with this blonde guy a few times, but I can't tell if they're dating. She doesn't wear a ring, though."

"But you do, I've noticed," Murphy said, digging out a pack of smokes and kicking Connor under the table.

Connor muttered something impolite, reached down to rub his shin and glanced at Leah's left hand, now conspicuously devoid of jewelry.

"Oh, that." She sat back and pulled both hands into her lap. "Comes in handy, you know, on the job…"

A pot-bellied man wearing yellow turnouts and a plastic fireman helmet jostled their table as he stumbled past, causing all the glasses to shift and tinkle. Greenly made a sloppy, angry gesture in the man's direction and was promptly ignored.

"So you're not promised to one of these strapping young hose jockeys, then?" Murphy asked, pinching a cigarette in one side of his mouth. "You just like to wear the ring to keep the poor bastards you take care of from asking you out."

"Something like that."

He saw her eyes meet Connor's and resisted the urge to kick his brother even harder. Instead, he just smiled and cupped his hands around his lighter.

Leah looked past them suddenly, relief evident in her smile. "Ah, here she is,"

"Hey guys, sorry it took me so long, this purple hippo kept hitting on me and--"

Through the noise of the crowded bar, the voice was soft and had that faintly raspy quality that radio deejays often had, and shot such a potent sensation of deja vu up his spine that every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He looked up from the cigarette he was lighting and felt his heart stand still.

Clear green eyes, wide with surprise, stared back into his own. Brown and gold-streaked hair, shorter now than he remembered, framing a heart-shaped face. Perfectly formed lips that were hanging open just slightly. And devil horns. Attached to a headband and peeking through her tousled hair, were little red pointed devil horns.

How appropriate.

She wore a tight black tee shirt and form-fitting jeans, and a part of Murphy couldn't help but appreciate the sight, even as the rest of him refused to believe what he was seeing.

He barely heard Connor's voice through the ringing in his ears. "Jesus fuckin Christ."

She blinked twice and tore her eyes away from Murphy to look at his brother, and Murphy found that he could breathe again.

"Connor?"

Greenly looked back and forth between the three of them, his wig slipping out of place with each turn of his head. "Do you guys know each other?"

The question seemed so absurd, he almost laughed out loud. Did he know her? Better than he knew himself, he'd once thought. As it had turned out, maybe not at all. Questions flooded his already foggy mind – what was she doing here? Why now, after all this time? How could he not have known about this?

In the end, the automatic movement of snapping closed his lighter was all he could manage.

Connor recovered quickly, smiling and standing to greet her. "Annie - it's been a long time."

Murphy took a fortifying drag, not standing up, not entirely sure he could. Nodding to her, he said simply, "Annie."

"Murphy." She took a miniscule step back and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"What are you…" Connor cleared his throat and sat back down, "What brings you here, Annie?"

"Oh, you know," she said with a casual shrug, stepping out of the way as a helmeted gladiator stalked past, "No cover with a costume, dollar drinks 'til eleven…"

Leah was openly gawking at Annie. "Am I missing something here?"

"I mean to Boston," Connor said.

"New job," Annie said, with a slight nod toward Leah as if that explained everything. She ran a hand through her hair, bumping the horns out of place, and surveyed Greenly's costume while she adjusted them. "Nice suit, Sean! Better watch out though, I think I saw those Miami Vice guys checking you out."

Murphy stared at her. They might have been neighbors, meeting by chance at the post office or the bank. Could she really be so unaffected?

A cell phone rang then, and Annie twisted to retrieve it from her back pocket. She glanced at the display and smiled apologetically, meeting Murphy's eyes for only a fraction of a second. "I'm sorry, I have to take this, would you excuse me?" As she passed the next table, she met Chaffey returning from his pool match. He touched her arm and said something to her, and she gave him a quick smile that made Murphy's stomach flip, and sent something else bristling up his spine that was dark and unexpected, though not entirely unfamiliar.

The entire group watched her disappear into the crowd, then all eyes turned on Murphy.

"Will someone please tell me what just happened?" Leah asked.

"I see Annie finally made it," Chaffey said, grabbing two empty chairs from a nearby table. When there was no response, his eyes quickly followed everyone else's to settle on Murphy. "Hey, are you all right, man?"

Murphy stared into his beer, wishing to God he knew the answer to either one of those questions.

"He's fine." Connor sat back, picked up his beer, bumped his knee against Murphy's beneath the table. "Shite driver, good with a paintbrush," he said thoughtfully.

"West coast," Murphy muttered, running both hands through his hair, torn between the urge to laugh and the overpowering need to punch something. He glared at Leah, considered forced interrogation, then bit back all his curiosity and turned to Greenly. "What were you saying about that murder case?"

"Whoa, first you got to tell me how you know Annie Shepard. She's barely been here two months!" Then, nodding knowingly, he lifted his beer in a toast. "You work fast, my friend."

Murphy frowned. "Two months?" That was more than enough time to look him up, had she wanted to.

Greenly gestured impatiently with his beer, sloshing a few foamy drops onto his shirt. "Well?"

"She's – just an old friend."

Greenly snorted. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't understand," Leah said, itching at the gash on her neck, "Did you used to live in California?"

Both brothers guffawed at this. "Annie didn't tell you she went to college here?" Connor asked.

"No," Leah said, frowning in the direction Annie had gone, "It must have slipped her mind." She turned to Murphy, cocked her head to the side. "So you two…?"

"I haven't seen her in years," Murphy said, feeling like every syllable of information was a piece of clothing stripped away, leaving him naked and exposed. "So tell us about this case, Sean, still fetching coffee and cream for Smecker while he does all the real work?"

The words had their intended effect; the detective's probing eyes narrowed to a scowl. "Things are about to change around the department, let me just tell you. Me and Dolly, we got a theory about that Polinsky murder."

"Here we go," Chaffey said with a chuckle. Leah was still watching Murphy closely, but he ignored her, turning his full attention to the young detective.

"Oh, go ahead, laugh it up," Greenly said, glancing at Leah, "But this one's rock solid. Alls I need is a fucking hypnotic shrink psycho-therapist and I'll--"

"A _what_?" Leah asked with a giggle.

"You'll find out soon enough," Greenly said, winking at her. He turned back to Murphy and Connor. "So Polinsky's up in his shit motel room, right? Doin' a deal, not sure what, but it's got somethin' to do with little kids and it ain't good."

Connor gave Murphy a long look, and it occurred to him he probably should have chosen a different subject change. Sean Greenly was about as subtle as blow to the head, and if it occurred to him that Polinsky's death might be the work of the Saints, chances were good he'd blow their cover wide open before he'd manage to shut his mouth.

But now that Murphy had gotten him on a roll, he wasn't quite sure how to stop him.

"But Polinksy's this cheapskate lawyer," Greenly continued, gesturing widely, building momentum, "And he wants to change the price--"

"Wait a minute," Chaffey interjected, "There was no evidence of any money exchange."

Greenly scoffed. "Of course not. You think these assholes are gonna just walk away and leave the cash behind for us good guys to find? That'd be the fuckin' day."

Leah set her beer down and glanced cagily towards the exit.

"Anyway, so these guys get fucking pissed and just open up on him--" Greenly acted out the shooting, standing up and swaying slightly before aiming his loaded finger at the floor as he traveled around to the front of the table. "--and I mean real pissed, we're talkin' a dozen shots to the chest, turned the prick into fucking Swiss cheese."

Murphy's ear burned and he resisted the urge to touch the notched scar. He felt Connor tense beside him, though he hadn't visibly moved.

"They grab the money and slip out of the place, but these two other lowlifes outside see them with their masks and this briefcase - think _they'll_ make some easy money muggin' 'em right there in the fuckin' alley." Greenly paused and raised his brows at Leah, as if he expected her to jump in and tell the rest of the story.

She glanced at Murphy and Connor, picked up her beer, then set it down again untouched. Her smile was long gone by now, but Greenly seemed not to care, taking her silence as a sort of challenge. "Go on," she said coolly, crossing her arms, "What next?"

Greenly rested one hand on the back of the empty chair and eyed her for a moment. "That's it. The pedophiles kill one lowlife, injure the other, one innocent vic gets saved by accident – that's you, by the way," he said to Leah.

By accident? Hadn't she told the cops what happened? Chaffey had somehow inched his chair closer to Leah and was resting his forearm on the table in front of her, as if to hold her hand. He didn't appear confused by this version of the story, only irritated with the storyteller.

Leah closed her eyes and squeezed her temples with one hand. Connor remained where he was, reclined in his chair, but Murphy could see that he was watching her closely.

"How do you know they were pedophiles?" She looked up at Greenly from beneath the hand on her forehead. "I mean, where's your proof that the whole thing wasn't just about some legal case of his? Maybe the money was a bribe or a pay-off."

Greenly sniffed. "I'm not at liberty to say." For a second it appeared he might actually have the self-control to stop there. But only for a second.

A moment later he rested both hands on the chair and leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But what the press don't know is that the Bureau's been building a case against Polinsky since long before the Gracie Keebler thing. Some kind of child trafficking ring covering like six states. Now he's got himself whacked, and they're going after all his business connections like gangbusters, trying to salvage all their work and cover their own asses for not taking him down sooner."

"What are you saying, that they knew he was meeting with these people at the Lucky Suites that night?" Connor asked.

"Federal fucks didn't even send a whisper our way," Greenly said, shaking his head and sharing his disgust with Chaffey. "Even Smecker didn't know. 'Course they have him on the case _now_…"

Leah was resting her forehead on both hands, as though trying to block something out of her vision. He glanced at Connor, and though his expression was blank, concern shown in his eyes.

"Too bad we got no witnesses," Greenly went on, still standing as he emptied the last of the pitcher of beer into his glass. "Nobody sees nothin', nobody hears nothin'… two sicko criminals get away with double homicide, and Lord fucking knows what else they've got in the works for some poor innocent kids--"

"Jesus, Greenly…" Chaffey said, but the words had already hit their mark.

With a shake of her head, she lowered her hands and glared at Greenly. Lips pressed together tightly, she stood and made to leave, but he was blocking her way.

"Nothin' to add?" he asked lightly, grinning smugly back at her as she waited for him to move.

"Fuck you, Sean," she whispered, then walked around him and out of sight.

"Just can't give it a rest, can you?" Chaffey said as he rose to follow her.

Greenly just took a long swallow and dismissed him with a wave.

Three chairs stood empty at their table now. Murphy remembered with a stab of alarm that one of them was to be Annie's, and she'd likely be returning any moment. They'd managed to run off the entire female element of their party, but for once it felt like a blessing.

"What was that about?" Connor asked, apparently not sharing Murphy's sentiment. He recognized Connor's Herculean effort to keep the anger out of his voice, not to mention the effort to keep from going after Leah himself, and possibly knocking Chaffey out of the way in the process.

Greenly sat back down, oblivious, belched and stretched out comfortably in the extra space. "It ain't easy, but it's got to be done."

"What's got to be done?" Murphy asked, glancing at a nearby table where Batman and an inflatable purple hippo were exchanging words.

"She's the only witness we've got – and she's got fucking amnesia. Not the whole night, though, of course – just the part that actually matters to us."

The meaning sunk in as Murphy watched Batman jab a gloved finger into the hippo's inflatable chest. It wasn't that Leah hadn't given the cops a useful description. She hadn't given them anything at all. Although he could appreciate the difficulty of her situation, he had to admit it was a pretty fortunate turn of events for the Saints.

"Smecker thinks it will all come back," Greenly said, turning to see what they were looking at, "We just need to jog her memory."

"And you think _that's_ the way to do it?" Connor asked.

Greenly scowled at him. "That's what the hypno-therapist is for. Jesus, you sound like Chaffey. Leah's a big girl, you know, and it's not like I'm talking shock-therapy here."

Connor sat up a little straighter, but Murphy asked the question for him, "What's with Chaffey and her, anyway?"

Greenly rolled his eyes. "He was first on scene after it happened, found her all bloody and shaken up –I think he feels sort of responsible for her, you know?"

Connor set his still half-full glass down carefully. "I can imagine."

He met Murphy's eyes and nodded slightly. Murphy cleared his throat. The best way to settle this mess was to just spill the beans to their old confidant and take the need for the girl's memory out of the equation altogether.

But Greenly was far from the ideal man to take such a confession sober, let alone in his current state, and Murphy hesitated just long enough for Chaffey to rejoin them.

"Ladies' room," he explained. Then, to Greenly, "You need to lay off her – she's not so together as she makes out to be, you know."

"Lucky she's got a hero like you looking out for her then, Mike."

Chaffey's retort was lost beneath a wet crash, followed by shouts and the clatter of a chair falling over as the hippo launched himself across the table towards the Dark Knight.

"Shit," Greenly moaned as various friends and sidekicks joined the melee, "All I wanted was one fucking night off."

A loud pop and brief roar of laughter signaled the demise of the hippo's inflated costume, but the victory was short-lived as someone hurled a Pilsner glass that struck one of Batman's pointed rubber ears. It ricocheted downward and shattered on the table, sending a spray of foam-soaked glass shards in all directions.

"I think that's our cue," Chaffey said, standing up with a sigh and turning towards the mayhem.

"Ours, too," Connor said, shooting a brief glance towards the ladies' room before downing the last of his beer.

Murphy led the way, fighting to focus his thoughts. Masks, Berettas, pennies, paintings, ammunition, extra magazines, devil horns, prayers, signs, sacrifice. He pushed through the door and out into the warm, dark night.

--o-o-o--


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: It's a shortie, but hopefully enough to keep you loyal readers going. As always, thanks for your patience, and especially for your feedback!**

**[Chapter 14**

Annie fumbled past the line of women that had spilled over into the narrow hallway at the back of the bar and pushed open the heavy restroom door. Her phone was still trilling in her back pocket and she grappled for it, silencing it through the tight fabric. Whoever it was, she'd call them back later. She headed to the nearest sink and leaned against it, feeling the cool porcelain beneath her palms. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, although the stuffy air, thick with the scent of alcohol and aerosol hairspray, did little to soothe her nerves.

She'd known, she'd _known_ this was going to happen. Even though she'd had it on good authority that he'd left South Boston, somehow she'd still known that this little reunion was bound to occur, sooner or later. She'd even thought about what she might say when she saw him again. Though she hadn't worked it out exactly, sweating under the spotlight of a half-dozen curious stares had never been part of the plan.

Raising her head, she stared at her reflection, instantly finding a flaw in everything she saw. The devil horns mocked her, their red vinyl shining gaudily in the bright bathroom lights. She tore them off and stuck them in her other back pocket, frowning at the funny wave they left behind in her hair.

If only she'd worn a mask instead, she could have just kept on walking past the table, and no one would have been the wiser. If only she'd stayed home tonight, like she'd planned on doing before her damned partner had talked her into this. If only…

She opened her eyes quickly, before her mind could start down that path again. Far too many hours had been spent on the 'If Onlys' of her past, and she'd vowed not to waste another minute regretting what could never be changed or forgotten.

Damn, it was hot in here. She wet a paper towel and pressed it against her face, feeling the excess water drip down her neck.

"Hey – hey, you all right, honey?" Someone was tapping her on the shoulder. It was a tall woman in a tennis outfit – Venus Williams, maybe? Or was it Serena? She could never keep them straight. "You been standing there for like five minutes – you okay?"

Annie nodded. "Fine," she said, "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Venus studied her. "You don't look fine, girl." She smiled sympathetically. "Was it the Jell-o shots? I don't know what they put in those things, but it just ain't right for a drink to glow in the dark that way."

Annie summoned a half-hearted laugh and Venus gave her a pat on the shoulder before squeezing out of the crowded room.

The mindless chatter of the women waiting in line outside became distinct cries of irritation and protest, quickly followed by a familiar voice.

"Oh, relax, would you? I'm not here for the goddamned toilet."

Annie lowered the paper towel and looked in the mirror to see Leah pushing through the door. Sighing, she pressed the damp cloth back over her eyes and wished futilely that she hadn't been seen.

"Annie?"

"Hmm," she mumbled, still holding the cloth over her face.

"I thought you had a phone call."

"Yeah."

In the mirror, she saw Leah survey the silver and black tiled walls. "How's the cell reception in here?"

"It's great," Annie said, squeezing the towel tightly in her fist, "I was just about to give my mom a call. I'll tell her you said hi." She watched the last drops slide down the drain.

Leah cocked her head to the side. "Have you been in here this whole time?"

Annie tossed the wad of paper across the small room into the trash, but the bin was so overfull that it rolled off and hit the ground with a flop. She wanted to leave it there, but her eco-conscious guilt overruled and she stalked over to pick it up, not bothering to answer.

As soon as she stepped away from the sink, a pirate wench stole her place and she reluctantly joined Leah at the back of the line.

Leah took off her ball cap and began to carefully pick out the strands of hair that had attached themselves to her make-up. "So, were you ever planning on telling me you lived in Boston before?"

Annie supposed she should have expected this from the woman who was used to knowing everything. "Yes," she said curtly.

Leah gave her a look, then flipped her hair over to re-do her ponytail. Annie crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, finding it strangely satisfying to irritate the person who'd caused her so much stress and anxiety over the past few weeks.

"So this is why you didn't want to work in Southie." Leah said after a moment, snapping the hair band into place. "And to think, I was so impressed with how quickly you learned your way around."

"You were?" The surprises were coming left and right tonight.

Leah rolled her eyes and the compliment evaporated. "Why the big secret? Why not just tell me? If anything, it's an advantage."

Annie pulled out the headband and turned it over in her hands, running her finger along the short teeth on the underside. "I just…didn't want to have to go over it all again." She sighed. It seemed so pointless now that she had to explain it out loud.

"But you had to think you'd run into him at some point."

Annie laughed bitterly. "My sources assured me he'd left town."

Leah raised a brow. "Apparently your sources are misinformed."

"Apparently."

"But didn't you think you'd run into other people you used to know?"

Annie shrugged. She poked at her palm with a devil horn.

Leah replaced the ball cap, leaving it skewed slightly to one side. "So, what's the big deal? So you've got an ex-boyfriend. Granted, he's a little on the eccentric side, what with his brother and their creative child-rearing techniques…"

"Their what?" 

"I told you what Connor said about Danny and--"

"What _Connor_ said?" It was all clicking into place now. She'd just assumed that they'd all met tonight at the bar. "You never told me his name. You never even told me they were Irish, for Christ's sake!" Her stomach was suddenly queasy and she wished she could blame it on Jell-o shots.

"Give me a break, you were hardly interested. And you said you weren't looking to date right now."

"I wasn't. I'm _not_."

"You still could have told me," Leah continued, glaring at her, "I don't see why--"

"This," Annie gestured back and forth between them, then all around her, to the world at large, "This – here, now. These questions, this digging around in what's already resting in peace. _This_ is why I didn't want anyone to know!"

Impervious to Annie's anger, Leah looked her over thoughtfully. "Wow," she said with an infuriating smile of discovery, "this guy really got under your skin, didn't he?"

A sink opened up and Annie stepped up to it quickly, yanking on the faucet and soaking herself halfway to her elbows with the force of the spray. Cursing out loud, she shut the water off and removed her watch before it could take any damage.

Leah handed her a wad of paper towels. "Is that a tattoo?" she asked, indicating the tiny star etched inside her left wrist.

Annie sighed. "Look, I know it's against the rules to have visible tattoos, but as long as I wear a watch--"

"Relax, I'm not going to rat you out. Besides, they only made that rule to keep guys like Manny from flashing their X-rated pin-up girls for all the world to see."

Annie dried the watch, then her hands, tracing a finger over the star briefly before covering it again with the watch band. "I'm going to have my uncle cover it up anyway."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." This time she walked over to the trash can and balanced the paper carefully on top of the pile. "By the way, what's the company policy on moonlighting?"

"You mean like working shifts at the hospital?"

"I mean like a small family business, part-time, no pay."

"Hell, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work, it's don't ask, don't tell." She started to move towards the door, but stopped when Annie didn't follow. "Aren't you coming?"

"Actually, I'm not feeling so hot," Annie said as her heart began to pound. "I think I'm just going to head home."

"But you haven't even had a drink yet!" A group of slutty-looking fairies pushed through the door and Leah stepped back inside, out of the way. "Come on, one drink – you don't hate him that much, do you?"

"I don't hate him," Annie said quietly, "I just know he doesn't want to see me. You saw what he looked like." _She_ certainly had.

He looked good.

Leah sized her up. "So, you don't want to stay because your ex-boyfriend might not want you to? Most of my friends would savor the opportunity to get on their ex's nerves."

Annie frowned. "It's not like that." Although, it would be easier if it was, she thought.

"Good." Leah moved slowly towards the door again, walking backwards and beckoning exaggeratedly for Annie to follow. "Then let's _go_."

Annie tried again, but her boots seemed frozen to the spot. She smiled a little desperately at Leah. "There's a high window in that third stall, I figure it's only about a six-foot drop…"

Leah laughed. "Very funny. Come _on_! Just come back out there, have one beer, and be nice to the poor guy – he'll probably be nice back, and then you can leave, okay?"

Annie groaned. "Fine," she said, "One beer." She took one last deep breath, repositioned the devil horns, and turned resolutely away from the mirror. "But then I'm calling a cab."

Leah opened the door and Annie's heart skipped as the pub's commotion hit her ears. They rounded the corner to see Greenly, Chaffey and the other costumed officers trying to break up a rowdy brawl between what looked like a gang of comic book heroes and the cartoon cast of Disney's Fantasia.

Her eyes found their table empty, and began almost involuntarily to scan the crowd. It didn't take long to find it – the very same image that had burned into her memory so long ago:

Murphy's back as he walked away.

**o()o**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_And shepherds we shall be_

_For Thee, my Lord, for Thee_

_Power hath descended forth from Thy hand_

_That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command_

_So we shall flow a river forth to Thee_

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be_

_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_

Connor crossed himself solemnly.

Then he reached over to adjust the penny over Stanley Waters' right eye socket. The man's thick glasses hadn't survived the execution any more than their owner, and what was left of them lay scattered in crystalline chunks on the cheap beige carpet. The flow of blood from the bullets' exit wounds made it difficult to keep the coins in place, but Connor was determined, and patient.

_This time, no mistakes._

They had enough loose ends lying about after last time to knit a goddamned sweater, and he wasn't about to leave anything to chance tonight. There would be no guesswork involved when the story hit the papers, no detectives' far-fetched theories, and no burning need for witness statements.

_Evil man: dead man._

Hell, he'd hand-deliver Waters with a bow stuck on his fat, ugly head if he thought it would stick.

Murphy moved quietly through the apartment around him, checking for any traces of evidence they might have left behind.

Connor stood finally and appraised his work, pleased with the now symmetrical bloodied coins. Taking a deep breath, he began to sweep the side of the room opposite Murphy, and noticed an incongruity that had been nagging on the edge of his senses since they'd arrived.

"You know, for such a dirty place, it smells kind of nice in here." He turned a small circle and sniffed thoughtfully. "Reminds me of someone..."

"Mind your feet there," Murphy said, pointing out one of the two spent shells, the only ones they'd fired, dully golden next to Connor's boots.

Connor picked it up and dropped it into his coat pocket, then sniffed again, deeply. "Can't quite put my finger on it."

Murphy bent to retrieve the other shell before the expanding pool of blood could swallow it up.

"A woman." Connor said, securing his gun in his shoulder holster. "Someone from back home..."

Murphy slipped his mask out of his coat pocket and tugged it over his face.

"What do you think?"

"I think you should stop jerking off so we can get the fuck out of here," Murphy said, moving towards the door. "That cruiser's been circling this block every five minutes, and I don't want to get made tonight."

Connor remained where he was, on the far side of the living room. The hovering cops were keeping an eye on the noisy revelers outside the corner market, not monitoring visitors to Waters' apartment. "It's got to be an air freshener or something," he continued, "because this place ought to be smelling like dog--"

Murphy froze. "Shit."

They looked at each other and then quickly around the room. "_Shit_ - the dog."

"Who knows how long it'll be before anyone misses this motherfucker," Connor said, leading the way to a short hallway. "Little pup could starve before then."

Murphy followed him, stepping lightly over the body in the middle of the floor. "Not much of a guard dog."

"It does seem a bit too quiet - maybe it's asleep." Connor pushed opened a door to his left and found a light switch. Peach-colored tiles lined with a grid of mildewed grout assaulted his eyes. A filthy toilet with no seat, a rust-stained sink and a pile of grayish towels took up the rest of the small space. No dog.

Murphy opened the narrow door across the hall. A linen closet, filled not with linens, but with haphazard stacks of magazines, newspaper clippings, and photo-processing envelopes. A dusty dog food bag lay crumpled on the bottom shelf. Murphy picked it up and shook the last remaining crumbs onto the floor. With one finger, Connor pushed aside the magazine on the top of one stack, then the next, finding them all to be pornographic, and none of the cover models looking a day over fourteen.

Murphy picked up an envelope of pictures and paused with his thumb under the flap. "I'm almost afraid to look."

"Do it."

With Connor beside him, Murphy removed the stack and began to sift through the photos. They were all of children, taken at a park or a playground. A school, Connor thought, judging from the uniforms. Most of the pictures appeared to have been taken up-close, but strangely, none of the children were ever looking at the camera.

One of the shots was from a wider angle, and Murphy held it up suddenly for a closer look. "Jesus Christ, this is at the church!"

"Let me see that." Connor took it from him and moved to stand under the hallway light. Murphy was right. It was the playground at St. Augustine's. He could even see two women in their tell-tale habits in the background.

"There's no way the Sisters would let some strange man take photos of the kids like this," Murphy said.

"He must have had a zoom lens, a good one," Connor said, peering into the corners of the closet, but finding no trace of the camera.

Murphy was looking through the stack again, slowly this time. "I know this girl," he said, holding up a shot of a smiling little black girl coming down a slide. "She stands at the door and hands out programs for Mass..." He flipped to the next picture and let the envelope fall from his hands. "Oh, Christ…"

Connor sucked in a breath when he saw it. "Danny boy."

"And Omar."

The boys were sitting on top of the monkey bars, Danny with his mouth open, caught mid-sentence, Omar grinning in laughter at whatever Danny was saying. Connor took the photo from him and felt his skin begin to crawl. "How could this happen? Why didn't somebody _stop_ this motherfucker?"

"Connor," Murphy put a hand on his shoulder. "I believe we just did."

They set all the photos back on the shelf, but left the closet door wide open, just in case the investigators had any doubts about the motive behind Stanley Waters' death.

"Wish we could have done it slower," Connor said as they stood before the last door, presumably to the bedroom.

"Wish we could kill him _again_."

Together they pushed the door open. It was dark and quiet, but somehow not as quiet as the rest of the apartment.

When nothing happened at the flip of the light switch, they felt their way along opposite sides of the room.

"I see a lamp shade - it's right next to you," Murphy whispered. "Be quick about it, I'd like to know what I'm stepping on here."

"Ah, here we are," Connor said as his fingers found the switch.

Suddenly there was a crash of a boot meeting a metal cage, a torrent of swearing, and an ear-splitting barrage of barking and yelping.

There was a folding table next to the wall, with a rusted metal dog kennel wedged cruelly underneath. Murphy tried to back off from the spooked animal, but got tangled in the blanket hanging off the side of the unmade double bed, toppled backwards and landed hard on his side.

"Holy fucking Christ!" Murphy sat up and nursed an elbow as Connor rounded the bed.

"You trying to wake the whole fucking neighborhood?" Connor stepped over him and squatted in front of the cage.

"What?" Murphy yelled, "I can't hear you over this poor defenseless animal!"

Connor ignored him, ignored the barking, and unlatched the door of the cage. He offered the back of his hand at the opening, trying to show that he wasn't a threat, but the dog lurched noisily against the back of the cage and growled.

"Well, at least that's better than the damn barking," Murphy muttered, moving to the window a few feet away, and glancing out at the street below. "Cruiser's stopped. Party's over…no wait, seems they're off with just a warning..."

Connor scooted back and the growling quieted a bit. "Jesus, look at the thing."

It was the same Labrador puppy they'd seen from across the street from the church, but it was much thinner up close, with patches of his chocolate-colored coat wearing thin in a few places.

"Christ, I can count his ribs from here."

Connor tried again, this time moving his hand slowly inside the opening. "Hey there, little guy," he said, his voice calm and soothing, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The growling grew dangerously low. Connor held his hand steady, even when the dog bared its teeth. "C'mon, fella," he whispered gently, "We won't be leaving you here to starve like your piece of shit master did…"

With a snarl, the dog leapt at him.

Connor jerked his hand back, feeling needle-like puppy teeth graze his fingers. The barking started again in earnest.

Murphy crouched down and studied the animal from a distance as Connor retreated to join him.

"Don't even start."

"I was just thinking – you might have better luck if you stop calling him a boy."

"Is that so?" Connor said, squinting to confirm Murphy's assessment as the barking continued.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, darlin'," he said to the animal sweetly, crouching down next to his brother. "You sure are a pretty girl."

"Should have known," Murphy muttered, "You're like a fuckin' magnet."

"For pretty girls?"

Murphy snorted. "For females in trouble. How 'bout we leave this one alone, aye? I don't think I can take any more complications tonight."

Complications. It was the first comment Murphy had made about what had happened at the bar. Somehow, Connor had expected a bit more.

"I was thinking about that," Connor said after a moment, shifting his weight. "And you're right. It's gettin' too damn complicated." He watched the dog watching him. Such pretty brown eyes. "I'm not going to pursue it, so you don't have to worry."

"Not going to pursue it?" Murphy used Connor's shoulder for balance as he stood up. "Breaking up before you've even gone out? I do believe that's a new record for you, Con."

"It's not worth it," he said, not knowing who he was trying to convince more. "All the scrutiny she's under because of us - it's just asking for more trouble that we don't need."

Murphy crossed his arms and leaned against the window sill. "I sure hope you're not saying this for me."

Connor shook his head. "It's not about Annie," he said quickly. But it was, of course. It was enough that the thorn in Murphy's side had resurfaced. He wasn't going to be the one to twist it.

"It's not an issue," Murphy said, making a point to look Connor in the eye. "Really. If you want to take her partner out, do it."

Connor stood, but didn't answer. They listened to the dog growl. The pitch was climbing gradually so that it began to sound like a whine.

Murphy took another look out the window. "Boys are back. Two cars this time."

Connor checked his watch. They'd been inside nearly twenty minutes – far longer than they'd planned already. They needed to wrap this up.

"We can't leave the front door open," he said, running a gloved hand through his hair, "and we can't leave him – _her_ - with no food."

"Remind me why we can't just set her loose? She'd probably stay in the area, we could check up on her in the morning."

"Neighbors," Connor said, "Even if we could force her out of the cage without getting torn to pieces, almost anyone on this street's going to recognize her and want to know why she's out alone. At best, someone comes knocking…at worst, she gets outside and starts up with her damn barking again. Either way, it makes for a risky getaway."

"You're sure the neighbors know her?"

"It's why Stan got her in the first place, remember? It was all a show for those kids. She may not have gotten a decent meal, but she sure got a lot of fresh air. I'll bet he walked her five, six times a day."

"I say we just leave her here," Murphy said, "If she gets hungry, there's two hundred pounds of dinner on the living room floor."

Connor turned slowly to look at him. "That's fuckin' sick, even for you."

Murphy shrugged. "He's just calories now, ain't he? And tell me he doesn't deserve it."

Connor considered it for a moment, giving an involuntary shudder. "Just see what Stan's got in the fridge first, at least," he said finally.

Murphy rolled his eyes, but headed to the kitchen while Connor tried again to befriend the animal.

Minutes later, Murphy returned, brandishing some cellophane wrapped meat. "Man, was old Stan holding out on you," he said to the puppy, slowing to unwrap the package as he approached the cage. "How's a nice, juicy rib eye sound?"

As soon as the scent reached it, the dog quieted and inched to the door of the cage. Murphy tossed the wrapping aside and set the steak on the floor. The dog sniffed it curiously.

"Nicely done," Connor said when she began to nibble on a fatty corner. "Did you find anything else we can leave out for her?"

Murphy nodded. "Let's make it quick."

While Murphy rummaged through the refrigerator, Connor checked that his coins were still in place. The stink of death was growing stronger, but that pleasant, unnamed scent was still there.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Still nothing.

Murphy poked his head around the open refrigerator door. "Are you still on about that?"

"It's going to bug me all fuckin' night," Connor said.

"Forget about it already!"

"Well, you'll never be a help to me with your head in there." Connor took a paper container from him, opened it and tossed it onto the kitchen floor, adding it to the smorgasbord.

When the last Styrofoam box was emptied, they pulled on their masks and headed for the door.

"Come on now, just give it a smell."

"Forget it. You know I suck at that kind of thing."

"Do it!"

"You're such a fuckin' wanker." Murphy turned back around and took a deep, exasperated breath. The seconds ticked by, and then a triumphant smile crossed his face.

"What? What is it? You know, don't you?"

"You're going to kick yourself."

"I'm going to kick your smug ass if you don't tell me."

Before Murphy could answer him, a dark blur pushed Connor aside, jumped up on his brother and knocked him against the front door. Murphy shoved her off, but she bounced back immediately, lapping at his gloved hands and tripping over his boots.

"Ah, Jesus – stop – Christ almighty, enough already!"

"Who's the fuckin' magnet now?"

"Get her off me, would you?"

Apparently, a juicy steak was all it took to win her affections, for the dog couldn't get enough of Murphy. She seemed to thing he was playing with her, for every time he pushed her away, her tail wagged even harder, throwing her off balance.

"I'm waiting," Connor said, leaning against the door jamb, "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me?"

Murphy pulled the door open without turning the knob since they'd obliterated the latch upon arrival. He tried to slip out, but the puppy would not be left behind, and she bit the ankle of his jeans, holding on gleefully as he tried to wriggle free. "Just grab her collar or something!"

Connor looked at his watch. "Murph, could you get serious? We're not out for a walk in the park here."

"Goddamn it, Connor!" Murphy muscled back inside, breathing hard. He stared at Connor incredulously from behind his mask while the puppy began nipping at his hands again.

Connor waited, thinking that the last time he'd been so amused by his brother, it must have been at Rocco's expense.

When one of the puppy's playful nips dug too deep, Murphy swore and finally gave in.

"It's _Ma_, you jackass. It's what she smelled of on Saturdays."

Connor scratched at his neck where his ski mask rubbed. "She smelled of whiskey on Saturdays."

"In the afternoons. After the chores, but before the drinkin."

Connor let his hand drop to his side. "I'll be damned, you're right." He noticed for the first time the open window over the kitchen sink, amazed that he'd missed something so obvious. "We're above the fucking Laundromat."

"Congratulations, you're a fucking moron. Now would you--"

They were interrupted by the muffled splatter of liquid spraying denim. The puppy gazed up at Murphy adoringly as he hopped about and shook off his wet boot and rattled through every expletive in seven languages. Connor made no attempt to control his laughter.

"That's it, I'm putting her back in the fucking cage! I don't care if she has to chew through the metal!"

Connor led the dog to the banquet in the kitchen, then hooked a finger in the collar of Murphy's coat and tugged him towards the door. "I think it's best if you two make it a clean break."

Murphy yanked the door shut behind him, but the latch on the door bounced off the splintered door frame and creaked open again.

"Fuck it," Connor said from the stairwell, "Let's just go before she decides to follow you home."

"Next time, Connor - no women, and no fucking pets," Murphy said, his wet boot skidding on the top step, "Or you'll be saving their sorry asses from me."

o-0-o


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's Note**_**: Hi there, remember me? Just wanted to say I remember all of you, my loyal readers, and I'm so sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. Special thanks to GoddessLaughs, for her insight, honesty, patience and support. You are one in a million!**

**Chapter 16**

The morning arrived in a milky haze of fog, but by the time they'd packed up Rob's old shop in Roxbury, sunlight was filtering through, the Indian summer primed to go out in a blaze of glory. Murphy found himself oddly soothed by the lifting, hauling and sweating, and wished the rest of his life could be as uncomplicated.

Once they'd unloaded everything but the big stuff, Connor and Murphy broke for a cigarette while Rob lingered inside, rummaging through boxes.

They sat on the hood of the LTD, which was parked behind the moving truck, and smoked in silence. Connor's eyes drifted up the street to the Laundromat and the small open window on the second floor.

"Relax," Murphy said, "All's quiet."

Connor blew out a stream of smoke. "For now."

"You worry too much."

"You should talk."

"And that's supposed to mean…?"

Connor slid off the hood, smiling around his cigarette. "Let me move this thing so we can get the sofa down the ramp."

As Connor cranked the engine over, Murphy thought he heard a dog bark. Tossing away the butt of his smoke, he scanned the street in both directions. An elderly woman was walking a small lap dog across the street, but he was pretty sure that what he'd heard came from closer to Waters' apartment. He waited, straining to filter out the sounds of morning traffic, the corner store door chime, the skateboarders hopping the curb on the next block. Nothing.

Then, from inside the shop came a triumphant shout, and Rob unearthed a giant black boom box. He plugged it in and cranked the classic rock station up until the windows and Murphy's skull began to vibrate with the beat. Murphy squeezed his temples, willing the pounding to subside.

A beefy hand clapped on the back of his neck.

"Rough night?" Rob asked, giving him a good shake.

"I've had worse," Murphy said with a wince.

Rob grinned. "So I recall," he said, "Thanks again for showing up so early. I really owe you one."

Murphy shrugged. "I was up anyway."

"Aye, well, I wasn't," Connor said as he joined them, "so you can owe me two."

"I do intend to make it up to you," Rob said, creaking the lid of the cooler that was propping open the door. "Coke?"

Murphy caught the can he tossed and held it reverently in both hands. "Guess this makes us even."

Rob grunted. "I was going to say it's about time you got some fresh ink."

Connor's face perked up and Murphy gave him a _not now_ head shake. He had no desire to tempt fate any longer than necessary, and he knew from experience that once Rob got excited about a design, they'd be held hostage for hours.

But Connor's interest was already piqued. "We have been rolling something around…"

Before Rob could ask, a car pulled into the parking space Connor and the LTD had just vacated.

"Hey," Rob said, glaring through the open passenger window, "We're moving here, do you mind?"

The driver said something that sounded like _sitting on your asses_ and Connor and Murphy ambled over to stand on either side of Rob. The driver scowled at the three of them and pulled back into traffic.

Rob crushed his soda can and led the way into the back of the truck. "Guess we should get this done so you two can make it to the church on time."

Murphy looked down at his dirty jeans and scratched his day-old stubble. "How'd you know we were going to church?"

"You're always going to church."

Murphy hefted the black leather sofa away from the back wall. "Not always."

"MacManus, you go to church so much, _my_ soul is saved, just by association."

"Your soul's saved anyway," Connor said, lifting one end, "God knows you're a good man, even if you've got the rest of the world fooled."

"Hey, don't be spreading rumors about me."

Murphy was backing down the ramp when he heard footsteps pounding up the pavement behind him.

"Stop! Come back!" a voice shrieked.

A dark blur whizzed by on the edge of Murphy's vision. Danny pounded past a moment later, backpack bouncing wildly.

Connor's voice was flat. "Tell me I didn't just see that."

Omar struggled to bring up the rear, only making it as far as the shop window before bending at the waist to catch his breath. Unfortunately, his backpack was stuffed to seam-popping capacity, a fact which was not lost on the laws of gravity. The bag slid over Omar's head and dragged him into the pavement.

"What in the hell is going on out there?" Rob grumbled.

With a collective sigh, Murphy and Connor set the sofa down on the ramp.

Danny doubled back from his chase, yelling, "C'mon, Omar, he's getting away!"

The Omar heap grunted a little, and Connor lifted the backpack to let the boy extract himself from the straps. "What've you got in here, kid?"

Omar gave a small smile and unzipped the bag, revealing about five pounds of Halloween candy.

"Christ, does your mother know you've got all that?"

Giving Connor a blank look, Omar chose a single piece of candy from his stash and zipped the bag closed. He scooted over to the wall and leaned against it, sitting Indian style with the bag gathered in his lap. Danny reached them and collapsed against the wall next to Omar.

"Who's getting away?" Murphy asked him, waving another car out of the space behind the truck.

"My dog," Danny panted, "Want to help us look for him?"

"Sorry, kid, we're working this morning," Murphy said, catching Connor's eye. What were the chances that Danny had a pet that he'd never mentioned? Pretty slim, but he supposed it was possible.

Danny looked at the truck and the boxes inside the shop. "Hey, this is the tattoo place! You gonna get your new ones here?"

"That's the plan."

Danny pressed his nose to the glass. "Today?"

"Nobody's getting the needle until this truck is empty."

"Want me to help you carry something?" Danny asked, peering into the truck and coming eye to eye with Rob, the Hell's Angel of South Boston. Danny jumped about a foot off the pavement but managed not to wet his pants.

Rob gave him the pirate smile. "Skipping school, kid?"

"It's a h-half day," Danny said, taking a step back. "I think…maybe I'll just wait here."

An SUV stopped short and began backing into the open space until Connor got rid of him.

"You know, Danny boy," Murphy said, "I think I have just the job for you."

With Danny in place as parking space watchman, moving the furniture went fairly quickly. Rob and Connor had gotten distracted again with the new tat design when Murphy noticed yet another car inching into the space out front.

He watched while his traffic enforcer had words with the driver. But then, far from shooing the car away, the boy set his eyes to the rear tire and started giving _keep coming_ hand signals.

"Danny, what the hell?"

Danny looked at him sheepishly. "She paid me ten bucks."

Murphy pondered a moment about who would need to pay an unlicensed child to help them parallel park. The list wasn't very long.

He let the idea settle in his brain, and found he was fine. Nerves hovering at a slight elevation, but no sledge hammers to the chest like last night. Maybe it was the light of day, or maybe he'd just needed time to process. Or maybe it was seeing her struggle in a Datsun that was decades-old and in need of a new brake light. He watched it roll closer and closer, knowing the angle was completely wrong, but sort-of enjoying the inevitable failure. Danny held up a hand to stop, but she kept backing, rolling up onto the curb.

There was the sound of swearing and gears grinding, and she pulled out and tried again. Danny earned his money, gesturing and calling instructions. Murphy stood next to him, arms crossed, hoping she didn't cause a wreck that would bring the cops by for a visit.

"Dang, she almost had it that time," Danny said.

Murphy watched her pull out again. "You should've asked for twenty."

She tried once more and again went up on the curb. After a moment, the hazard lights flashed on, there was the crank of the parking brake, and Annie climbed out, leaving the engine running. She was dressed for work, hair swept into a ponytail, wearing the kind of sunglasses that attracted the paparazzi.

"Thanks," she said to Danny, "It was worth a try." She turned to Murphy and bit her lip. "Hi."

Rob emerged from the shop, deep belly laugh thundering over the music.

"Damn California drivers," he said, catching her in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.

A horn blared and a car swerved around the protruding bumper.

"Damn _Boston_ drivers," Annie said, giving Rob's bald head an affectionate rub. "If they can deal with the Big Dig, they can deal with me."

Connor was face to face with Annie when Rob put her down, and though Murphy could sense her hesitation, his brother didn't miss a beat, gathering her into a quick hug.

"Good to see you again, Annie," he said, "Sorry we didn't get to catch up last night, things got a bit messy after your phone rang."

"Yeah, I saw the aftermath – not pretty." She was smiling when she glanced at Murphy. "Glad to see you escaped unscathed."

"We choose our battles," Murphy said. "That one wasn't ours."

A moment followed when he probably should have hugged her, but she stuck her hands in her pockets and turned her eyes to the street. A black Lincoln Town Car with dark tinting was driving slowly by. Murphy caught a glimpse of a shadowed face in the open rear window before it passed out of sight.

"Annie, why don't you go on inside?" Rob said, mopping his brow. "We're almost done out here."

Annie's expression was unreadable behind her movie star sunglasses. "It's all right. I'm actually on my way to work. I just stopped by to bring you a housewarming gift."

She bent through the passenger window, and Murphy made an effort not let his eyes linger where they would have. He turned to Connor, but his safety net had disappeared into the truck along with Rob and Danny.

She emerged with a scraggly potted plant with familiar five-leaf clusters.

"Is that _pot_?" Murphy asked before he could stop himself.

"No! It's a money tree. It's supposed to be good luck."

"Oh. Looks like pot."

They looked to Omar for a ruling, but he only shrugged noncommittally, a Tootsie Pop stuck in one cheek.

Annie's car was still idling, the pitch of the motor rising and falling periodically. She glanced at her watch, then at the truck.

"I'm just going to go set this inside."

Murphy watched her go, perfect and professional in her navy blue uniform, thinking that if he'd seen her on the street, he'd have never recognized her. He remembered their recent meeting with Leah at the Yolk and realized it must have been Annie circling the block outside. Safely out of reach.

Danny marched past him down the ramp, clutching a stack of photo albums that climbed to his chin. A dog barked as he stepped onto the sidewalk, and he whirled around, catching his toe on the curb. He took two giant steps and righted himself.

Omar burst out laughing and Danny shot him a glare, tripped on a shoelace and pitched forward. The albums crashed to the ground, and plastic-covered pages of tattoo art and photographs scattered all over the sidewalk.

Danny swore at himself, glanced anxiously at the truck, and scurried to collect the artwork, Omar already at his side.

Annie stepped outside and joined the clean-up. "Jeez, Danny," she said, "Aren't you a little young to have a death wish?"

"Relax, kid," Murphy said, stooping to help them, "He wouldn't kill you this early in the day."

They all stood when Rob and Connor came down the ramp and cut a path between them with the fish tank-coffee table. Rob said nothing, just kept his eyes fixed on Danny until he disappeared through the doorway.

Danny laughed nervously and inched closer to Murphy.

"Hey Annie, you've seen people die, right?" Danny asked once the danger had passed.

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"At your job, don't people die if you don't save them?"

"Sometimes people die if they're very sick, or if they're hurt real bad. Most of the time we can help them."

"So when they die, do you see their ghosts leave their body?"

Annie pursed her lips, considering. "Well, I've never actually _seen_ anyone die. Usually they don't die until they're at the hospital, or they're already dead when I get there."

"Really? Are they, like, all rotted and wormy?"

Annie smiled. "No, that takes a little while. Usually I see them when they're all stiff and starting to smell."

Danny made a face. "Gross."

"You get used it."

She caught Murphy before he could hide his smile. "What?"

"Are you?" he asked.

"Am I what?"

"Used to it. Used to seeing dead bodies."

"What, you don't think I can handle it?"

"I didn't say that," Murphy said, leaning against the windowsill. "In that uniform you look like you could handle anything. In that uniform you look…"

She eyed him over the stack of pages she was organizing.

"…different."

She rolled her eyes and went back to sorting.

"It's just hard to picture you doing this," he said. "Remember the time you passed out on the T after I nicked my finger on that turnstile?"

"That was a bloody gash that needed ten stitches," she said, snapping the album rings closed. "And I'd skipped lunch that day. It was just low blood sugar. I did not _pass out_."

Murphy helped himself to a piece of candy from Omar's backpack. "I must have imagined carrying you unconscious for five blocks."

"I was conscious for the last three. You wouldn't put me down."

Danny was watching them, and Murphy could sense the oncoming line of questioning.

"Annie used to live around here," he said, trying not to openly cringe at the way it sounded.

Annie gave a rather unladylike snort and Omar giggled.

"So…when people die, do you think they go straight to heaven, or do their ghosts hang around and haunt stuff for a while?"

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Danny boy," Murphy said.

Danny knelt on the concrete and carefully inserted his pages into an album. "Connor says you saw a ghost last night, and you couldn't sleep so that's why you look like shit this morning."

A page slipped from Murphy's hand and he caught it mid-air, creasing the plastic covering. Annie's eyes were glued to the page of sample fonts in front of her, and she looked to be trying very hard not to smile.

Murphy took a breath and handed his pages to Danny. "Aren't you supposed to be in school right now?"

Danny just smiled and let Murphy take the heavy albums off his hands, and they all headed inside.

Connor was straddling a chair backwards, shirtless, his arms folded comfortably across the top, with Rob hard at work behind him, the buzz of the tattoo gun blending with the strains of _Hotel California_ pouring from the radio.

"Jesus Christ, I leave you alone for five minutes--"

"Before you start, just take a look at the sketch," Connor said, holding it out to him. "It's exactly what we talked about, we just need to decide on a few details."

Murphy left the albums on the aquarium coffee table and followed the boys over, reaching between them to take the sketch. He studied it silently. Connor was wrong; it wasn't what they'd talked about. It was better. He could hear Rocco now – _fuckin' hot shit, man_.

Danny was getting as close to the action as he dared, leaning forward on tiptoe to look over Rob's shoulder. "See, Annie?" he said, "It's to remember their friend that died."

Annie was rearranging the albums, laying them out neatly next to the pot plant. She didn't look up right away. "Let me just water this first," she said, grabbing the plant, "The heat's really getting to it."

Murphy watched her carry it to the sink in the back before shooting Connor a withering glare.

He'd spent most of the night trying to figure out what he was going to say to Annie about Rocco, and why he hadn't called her when it happened. By sunrise, he'd realized there was no solution that didn't involve confessing the truth about the Saints or blatant lies. The first was impossible, the second felt so wrong it turned his stomach. Procrastinating seemed like the way to go, but now Connor and Rob were quickly putting an end to that plan.

"I'm sorry, man," Connor said quietly, "I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't. Maybe you could think about wrapping it up. Rob, I hate to do it, but we need to be going."

Rob shook his head slowly, concentrating on Connor's back. "Take your shirt off. You're next."

"Not today, man. Don't you need to get this place ready for paying customers?"

"I don't do Hallmark. This is how I say thanks."

The faucet shut off and Murphy lowered his voice another notch, "I would have settled for a heads-up."

The corners of Rob's mouth twitched. "I didn't even know she'd be working here in Southie until a few weeks ago."

"We saw you last night, asshole."

The twitch grew into a grin. "What, were you going to get your nails done?"

Connor smirked. "He might've showered."

Rob let off the trigger and sat back on his stool. "We're almost done with the outline. You'll need to make some decisions before we go much further," he said, flexing his fingers. "You know, Annie's the one with the eye for this detailed shit. Don't suppose you'd want her to take a look?"

Don't suppose you'd like to put a loaded gun to my head so I can pull the trigger myself, Murphy thought.

Rob saw his face and buzzed the needle back on. "You're right, bad idea."

Connor cleared his throat. "I was meaning to ask you, Rob," he said, "She did know about Rocco, right? Before she moved back, I mean."

"I called her," Rob said, answering Connor but looking at Murphy, "Hell of thing to have to do."

Murphy returned the look but said nothing. He stood and walked outside as Annie returned to set the plant on the coffee table. Her car was still idling, and the exhaust was drifting through the open doorway. He had the driver's side door open, about to slip behind the wheel and re-park it, when he felt something cold and wet nudge his hand.

"Grab him!" Danny yelled. "Don't let him get away!"

The puppy darted under the moving truck before the boys made it out of the shop.

"Goddamn it, Connor," Rob shouted, "we're not through yet!"

Connor appeared in the doorway, and Murphy answered the question on his face with a grim nod. It was Waters' dog all right.

Annie came out after Connor, shooting Murphy a glare when he shut her car door and returned to the curb. They all watched as the boys tried to coax the animal out from under the truck.

Omar unwrapped a chocolate bar and dangled it under the bumper.

"Here, doggie, doggie," Danny called.

"You sure this is _your_ dog?" Connor asked.

Murphy watched Danny squirm. Grown men had a hard time lying under Connor's X-ray vision stare. Women were harder to pin down, but a kid like Danny had no chance.

"Well…it's _going_ to be my dog," Danny said, "Once I catch him. I think he's a stray."

Annie crouched next to him, peering into the shadows. "It has a collar and tags, Danny. It's not a stray."

"But I found him. I gave him my Pop-Tart."

"A hungry animal eating food isn't much of a sign, Danny boy," Murphy said.

"But it keeps coming back here," Danny said, turning to Annie, "Don't you think _that's_ a sign?"

"I don't believe in signs," she said, looking at Murphy, "I think sometimes people look for signs in order to avoid taking responsibility for their own choices."

Murphy felt his neck grow hot.

"You really want to help this dog, right?" she asked Danny, who nodded. "Then you can choose to do something about it. Check the tags and see if you can find its owner."

And at that moment, the dog scrambled out from under the truck and ran straight to Murphy. It sniffed his boot, circled twice, and laid down at his feet.

Annie moved in deftly, rubbing its tummy with one hand, checking the tags with the other.

"You're in luck, Danny," she said, "We won't even have to take the car."

o-O-o


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_**Author's Note**_**: Thanks as always to Goddess. We miss you around here!**

**Chapter 17**

Danny and Omar fed the puppy candy corn while Annie knelt at Murphy's feet, examining the dog's tags.

"Says here her name is Candy," Annie said.

"See?" Danny whispered to Omar. "It _is_ a sign."

Annie flipped the tag over. "No phone number, but there's an address…it should be just a few buildings over."

"Do you think Candy's owners are at work?" Danny asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Annie said. "But we can leave them a note."

After some serious tugging, they separated Candy from Murphy's boots and prodded her along the sidewalk.

Connor turned to Murphy. "We need to be gone. Now."

"Aye, this place will be crawling when the shit hits." Murphy nodded at the ink and blood making trails down Connor's back. "Rob's not going to be happy."

Rob had already started back inside. "MacManus, you better get your ass back in this chair if you know what's good for you," he called over his shoulder.

"How much longer, do you think?" Connor asked Murphy, turning to give him a closer look at the unfinished tattoo.

Murphy assessed the few remaining lines. "Five minutes, ten tops. Think we can spare it?"

"It'll be close, but I'll have to explain myself to Rob if I cut out before he's done, and I don't want to have to deal with that right now."

Connor returned to Rob's chair while Murphy paced at the window, too wired to sit patiently and wait.

Waters' door was busted, he'd seen to that. And it was probably wide open after Candy's escape, so there was little chance that the body on the living room floor was going to go unnoticed. The way he saw it, this could go down one of two ways. Either Annie and the boys would come back to the shop to call for help, or else Annie would use her cell phone and call from Waters' apartment. If they came back to the shop, he'd have a chance to stall her until Connor got wrapped up. On the other hand, if she called from the apartment, he and Connor could probably slip away unnoticed before the inevitable police and media frenzy spread to the shop.

Within minutes, footsteps thundered down the sidewalk and onto Rob's checkered tiles. Danny and Omar. No Annie.

"Murphy!" Danny gasped, "Annie said – something's wrong – sent us – get Rob."

Murphy realized that the third and most likely option hadn't occurred to him – that Annie would find a way to be a pain in the ass.

Rob sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if God might explain why he was being punished. Connor glanced at his watch.

"You finish up," Murphy said to them, "I'll go check this out."

He shuffled Danny and Omar outside and grilled them for information, grateful that they hadn't seen much. He couldn't be sure about Annie.

He parked the boys on the bench outside the Laundromat with strict instructions not to move, and paused outside the door to Waters' building.

Just make it quick, he told himself. In and out. Don't return to the scene of the crime. Don't let Annie screw things up.

He took a breath and pushed inside.

Even from the bottom of the stairs, he could smell it. Blood. Death. The air thickened as he climbed, collecting at the landing in a stagnant, nauseating cloud.

Waters' door was open a crack, and rust-colored paw prints smudged the concrete floor. Annie was leaning against the wall outside the door, one hand punching buttons on her phone, the other pressed over her stomach.

The scuff of his boot on the top stair made her jump upright, and she looked past him with a scowl. "Where's Rob?"

"Busy. Danny said this was urgent."

"Yeah, it is. Give me your phone."

The phone weighed heavy in his pocket. "What for?"

"I need to call the police and I don't have any bars up here."

"Why do you need the police?" Murphy didn't bother to embellish the act. Annie wasn't paying him any attention while she searched for a signal.

She was moving around the landing, holding her phone at arm's length. "There's a dead man on the floor," she said.

"A dead man?"

She gave a nod toward the open door. "See for yourself."

"No thanks," Murphy said, only half-faking a recoil at the stench, "I'll take your word for it."

"Squeamish?"

"You know me."

She lowered her phone and looked at him. "You haven't been squeamish a day in your life."

"Recent development. What happened to the dog?"

"She ran inside before we could stop her. Seriously, Murphy, I need to make the call."

She held out a hand and he stepped back stupidly, remembering from every cop show he'd ever watched that the fastest way to become a suspect was to discover a body or call 9-1-1. They'd have his number on record and his hands in cuffs no time.

"Just call from outside," he said, bringing a hand to his mouth. "Holy fuck, that's bad."

"I can't," she insisted, "I'm supposed to make sure no one else goes in."

Murphy's heart skipped. "No one else - did _you_ go in?"

She raised her chin. "I had to make sure he was really dead."

He stared at her, trying to process what he was hearing.

"Well, what if he wasn't and I didn't help him?"

"Annie! Did you think that smell was from his cooking? And you can see the latch is busted – the killer could still be in there, for Christ's sake."

She glanced through the crack in the door and did a double-take. The color drained from her face. "Oh, God," she whispered.

Murphy put his hand to the door and it swung wide. Waters was lying right where they'd left him. The puppy was crouched beside him in the lake of blood, her fur saturated black. She was chewing on his ear.

She looked up and wagged her tail when she saw Murphy.

"Jesus Christ." He grappled for the handle and pulled it closed before Candy could attack him again.

Annie pressed past him and stood hunched in the corner, one arm up on the wall in front of her.

He followed his first instinct without thinking and laid a supporting hand on her back.

She shrugged him off. "I'm fine," she told him. "The dog just—took me by surprise. It doesn't bother me." She closed her eyes for a moment, then bent and vomited onto the floor.

"It's part of my job," she said, taking a shaky breath. "It doesn't bother me."

"Of course it doesn't. You're used to seeing dead bodies."

She wiped her mouth and sent him a glare. "Are you going to give me your phone or what?"

He could hear Candy whining on the other side of the door, ready to pounce on him with her blood-soaked paws. A trickle of sweat slid past his ear.

"You shouldn't even be up here, Annie. Didn't they teach you anything? I thought you were supposed to be a professional now."

She blinked at him and Murphy did a mental cringe, knowing the line between pissing her off and making her cry was sometimes a very fine one. He was shooting for anger. He had no game plan for tears.

"You can run away if you want to," she said, "Just leave me your phone."

"I'm not leaving you my fucking phone."

"Why the hell not?"

"I – I'm out of minutes, all right?"

"Are you kidding me?" She saw that he wasn't, and let out something between a sigh and a growl. "I'll pay you for your damn minutes, Murphy."

"It's a pre-paid. When they're out, they're out. Just come downstairs! Yours works on the street, doesn't it?"

"Here," she said, pressing her phone firmly into his hand, "_you_ call from downstairs. Tell them to send P.D. Confirmed death. Gunshot wounds to the head. Obvious gray matter with rigor and dependent lividity."

"Jesus. I guess they did teach you a few things."

"Are you going to call?"

"I don't know," he said, starting down the steps, a phone in each hand. "It's hard to remember all that medical shite."

"Murphy, come on!" she yelled after him, "This is an emergency!"

"He's dead, Annie," he called over his shoulder, "He isn't gettin' any deader."

"Please," she said, stopping him with his hand on the knob. There was a time when that tone could have gotten him to do just about anything. Today, for a split second, it got him to consider hiking back up the stairs.

"Please, Murphy. This is important."

He turned around, gritting his teeth. "Annie, that's the only apartment up there. This door is the only way in. You can still play security guard from down on the street. Outside. In the fresh fucking air."

o-()-o

Connor was pulling his shirt on when Murphy cruised into the shop, Danny and Omar hot on his heels.

"I bet it was a break-in," Danny was saying, his voice pitched high with excitement. "I bet somebody got hurt. I saw Candy's footprints on the floor and Annie said it was just mud, but me and Omar think it was _blood_."

Rob looked up from the tattoo gun he was cleaning. "What's the problem?"

"No problem. I've got everything under control," Murphy said, depositing a cell phone on the counter. It was sleek, metallic blue. Not his.

Connor raised his eyebrows. "Interesting method."

"Simple, but effective."

"You know how I hate to pry," Rob said, wiping his hands on a towel, "but you want to tell me why Annie didn't come back with you?"

"I imagine she'll be along anytime now."

"So, what was it, Murphy?" Danny asked. "Mud or blood?"

They were all watching him expectantly. Murphy rubbed his brow. "It wasn't mud."

"There you are," Annie said to Murphy as she charged in. "I thought you were going to wait outside."

Murphy slipped his sunglasses on. "I didn't know how long you were going to be. You looked like you could use a minute."

"What I could use is the last ten minutes back that I wasted talking to you. I'm already late for work, and now I'll have to waste another ten minutes waiting for the police!"

"You don't have to wait," Danny said, "There's a policeman outside."

Annie spun to the window. "Where?"

"Right there, see? He's putting a piece of paper under your windshield wiper."

"A piece of…God _damnit_!"

It was Officer Chaffey. At least, Connor was pretty sure it was. The smoke chugging out of Annie's tailpipe made it difficult to be certain. The bright yellow ticket, however, glowed like a beacon.

Annie rushed outside. Connor and Murphy said quick goodbyes to Rob and the boys and hurried down the street to their car, counting on Annie and her smog to distract Officer Chaffey from causing another chatty delay.

Connor slipped inside the LTD and stretched to unlock Murphy's door.

"Be quick," he said as Murphy opened the door. "I think he's spotted us."

"Too late. Shit. Here he comes."

Murphy was sliding into the passenger seat when the young officer called him by name.

Chaffey jogged past the five or six vehicles parked between them and gripped the top of Murphy's door while he caught his breath. "Hey guys," he said. "Long time, no see. Listen, could I get you to hang out for a couple minutes? I need to talk to you about something."

"We've really got to be somewhere," Connor said. "Maybe another time."

Murphy reached for the handle, but Chaffey didn't let go of the door.

"Actually," Chaffey said, "It's not me. It's Special Agent Smecker. He heard you were at the bar last night, and he asked me to call him if I ran into you again."

Connor caught the look Murphy sent him. No way could he know about Waters already. Could he? Agent Smecker was good, but he wasn't clairvoyant.

"What's he want?" Murphy asked.

"I don't know. He didn't say. I've learned not to ask."

The sound of someone clearing their throat came from the sidewalk behind Chaffey.

"I'm _sorry_, Annie," Chaffey said before she could speak, "I swear I didn't know it was your car."

"Mike, I hope you're not going to give me that crap about once you start writing a ticket, there's nothing you can do." Connor couldn't see her face from the driver's seat, but he could see the fist on her hip. "This isn't funny, Murphy."

"Do you hear me laughing?"

"Come by the station and I'll see what I can do," Chaffey told her. He turned back to Murphy with a long-suffering sigh. "And it's not crap, that thing about writing tickets. Why does everybody always think it's crap?"

"What's Smecker's number?" Connor asked, "We'll give him a ring when we have more time."

"I'm pretty sure he wants to talk to you face to face."

Connor frowned. It didn't seem like Smecker to go through an outsider. But then, he supposed they hadn't left him with many other options. They had a new address, new phone numbers. If Smecker was desperate, he could stake them out at Doc's, or the church, or even at the Yolk, but Connor doubted the agent had time to do it himself.

Murphy drummed fingers on his thigh. "Sorry, man, we'd stay if we could."

Chaffey hunched down so he could see both of them. "The thing is, Agent Smecker's on a warpath with this case he's working on, and even if I don't understand his reasons, I'm smart enough to do what I'm told." He glanced back at Annie and lowered his voice. "I'm supposed to _make sure _he gets the chance to speak with you _in person_."

Murphy's drumming fingers stilled and Connor's senses went on alert. "Make sure?"

"That is, um, _detain_ if necessary."

Connor keyed the ignition. "You got a plan for this detaining?"

Chaffey's face reddened. In a small but deliberate movement, his fingers brushed the handcuffs hanging from his belt.

Connor felt keys dig into his palm and forced himself to relax. Unbelievable. They'd shared a pitcher the night before and now the man was threatening to arrest them. He looked the cuffs over, thinking he just might have to kill the next person that tried to slap a bracelet on him.

Murphy's focus wasn't on the cuffs, but at the gun holstered next to them. He could have Chaffey disarmed and at their mercy in a matter of seconds. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said.

"Look, I like you guys," Chaffey said. "Everybody does. I don't want to be a hard ass about this, but…" He shifted his weight. "If I let you go, Agent Smecker said he'd get me reassigned to Parking Enforcement."

Connor felt a smile coming on.

"Don't laugh," Chaffey said, "He'll do it, I know he will. It's a seriously shitty job. People are mad at you all day long."

"Can we save the boy bonding for later?" Annie called. "I've got another problem for you that's a lot bigger than this bogus ticket."

"You see what I mean?" Chaffey said.

Murphy looked at Connor. "Does seem a bit unfair."

Connor sighed. He cut the engine.

"Think of it as a favor to me," Chaffey said. "I'll owe you one."

o-()-o

_**Author's Note**_**: Dear Readers, forgive me, but Sins of the Past in its current form is on permanent hiatus. There will be no further chapters posted. HOWEVER, the re-vamped re-written version that I have been working on ever since is finally ready to start posting! In the new story, Lights and Sirens, you will recognize OCs Annie and Leah. A few characters may be re-named. A few scenes may sound familiar. But please understand the plot, baddies, and really the whole story are different. Another difference is that this time it's completely planned out from beginning to end, and it's going to be novel-length--you've been warned! But you've also been promised. :O) ~ archerlove Jan 2010**


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